Wednesday's Child
by julianka
Summary: Draco Malfoy is forced to leave Hogwarts- and much to his annoyance, Ginny Weasley is going with him.
1. Chapter One

Title: Wednesday's Child

Rating: R

Author's Note:

You see before you my pathetic attempt to combine elements of the plot of Georgette Heyer's wonderful novel "Devil's Cub" into a Draco/Ginny fic.  This is _incredibly_ presumptuous of me and, quite probably, a grave mistake- how well a romance novel set in the late 18th century transfer into my vision of the Potterverse?  But when has a half-assed idea ever stopped me before?

Disclaimer:  I only own the huge, gaping plot holes.  Try not to trip over them, and please review.

Part One:

Had it been anyone else who said it, Ginny Weasley probably would have grinned and agreed with them.  She _did_ have too many brothers, and, for the most part, they struck her as being pretty useless.  They used up all the hot water, inhaled all of the food in sight, and inevitably made a tremendous mess- which she usually had the privilege of clearing away, thanks to her mother's rather outdated ideas on the proper occupation for young ladies.  

But hearing it from the pale, twisted lips of Draco Malfoy was absolutely unbearable.  Her hand, clenched around her heavy Transfiguration schoolbook, positively itched to slap him.  "…can't imagine what the old biddy could have been thinking of.  Should have drowned the lot of 'em at birth- spared the rest of us the sight of their freckled-"

"Draay-co!  Stop being such a meanie!  Ginny's right behind you!"  Letty Birmingham, Gryffindor sixth-year, Ginny's roommate and, in her secret opinion, flaming airhead, coyly slapped the older boy's arm.  "He doesn't mean anything by it, Ginny," she assured the slight redhead behind her, tucking her hand into the crook of Draco's elbow and looking up at him through her lashes.  "Apologize, Draco."

Draco looked over his shoulder at the pale girl standing behind them, two steps down the stairwell that lead to the Gryffindor tower.  Had she been there a minute ago?  He had never taken much notice of the youngest Weasley.  She was such a washed-out little thing, except for that awful flaming hair.  Not totally hopeless, though, he noted absently.  Her features were pleasant, her eyes dark and well-shaped.  She was deathly pale, though- Draco tended to think of his own pallor as aristocratic- and her elfin prettiness was nothing compared Letty's overwhelming blonde loveliness.  At least she seemed to accept her own inferiority, though, habitually hiding behind the curtain of her hair or under the hood of her tattered, oversized school robes.  What was her name again?  "No offense, er, Jenny."

Ginny's breathing was unsteady with fury.  No offense?  How could he have not meant to offend her with the suggestion that she and all of her siblings should have been murdered in their infancy?  God, she hated Draco Malfoy, but the idea of snapping back at him was laughable.  "None taken," she said finally, her voice almost inaudible.  Would they _never_ move out of the way?  Blasted narrow stairwells.  "Er- excuse m-"          

"See?"  Letty chirped, interrupting her.  "Practically best mates already!"  She smiled gorgeously up at Draco.  "Goodnight, darling."  She trailed a perfectly manicured finger down the front of his robes, turning her face up in invitation.

Draco lowered his lips to hers, relieved that she had finally stopped chattering.  He was even getting rather tired of Letty, he thought regretfully.  It was shame, as she made for excellent arm-candy- by far the prettiest of the sixth years- and there was the added bonus of dating a Gryffindor- and one that he had caught both Potter and his red-headed sidekick eyeing, to boot.  Well, he thought coolly as he mechanically brushed his mouth over Letty's, ignoring her theatrical moan, one could hardly blame them.  Letty was outwardly perfect, and she was certainly brave- dating a Slytherin proved that.  Too bad, really, that she lacked the wits that God gave cabbage.  Still, one didn't date girls for their brains-

"Look, I really need to get past," Ginny managed, trying to look anywhere but at the tonsil-massaging couple in front of her.

"Ooh, I am sorry," said Letty sweetly, pressing her body against Draco's in order to make room for Ginny to move past her.  Ginny did so, avoiding looking either of them in the face.  As she rounded the corner she heard Letty's stage whisper: "Oh, don't mind her, Draco.  She's jealous.  Never had a boyfriend, poor little thing, and with hair like that- well, and those robes, she's not likely to.  Now, where were we?  Hmm… let's head for that empty classroom on the fourth floor…."

Barely managing to keep from screaming, Ginny kept moving.  When she heard Draco's low chuckle, she moved even faster.  She hated them both, but she hated herself most of all.  When would she stop being such a coward?

***** 

Forty minutes later, Draco was strolling past the library, physically satisfied but more than a little bored.  He was pondering how best to break it off with Letty, and considering which girl he might like to date next, when he heard a strange noise coming from a rarely used corridor.  Mildly curious, he stepped into the hallway and, brushing at the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, made his way down it, ears perked for further noises.  As he walked down the hallway torches spluttered to life, illuminating the curving passageway.  In the shadows ahead, he began to make out a form lumped on the floor.  Draco moved toward it, slowing a little, drawing his wand out of his pocket.  What was it?  It looked like a huge dog, or maybe a pony.  But when he drew closer, he realized that the shape was human, draped with a cloak and twisted into a strange position.  Breathing a little unsteadily, he reached out with a pale hand and turned the figure over, exposing a colorless face he didn't recognize.  It belonged to brown-haired boy who looked to be a few years younger than Draco.  

And who didn't seem to be breathing.  

Gasping, Draco scrambled back, clutching his wand, looking around wildly for whatever had attacked the boy sprawled on the floor in front of him.  His head spun, and he was struck by a sudden wave of nausea.  Suddenly, a voice rang out from the darkness further down the corridor, and another boy emerged, white-faced and wearing a Ravenclaw uniform.  Draco didn't recognize him, either.  "What have you done, Malfoy?  You- you attacked Sebastian!  _Death Eater_!"                                        

"No!  No, I found him like this-"

"Help!" shrieked the boy, backing away from Draco and raising his wand with a shaking hand, pointing it at the silver-haired boy kneeling in front of him.  

Draco's body, well conditioned by years in his father's house, instinctively acted to defend itself.  Without thinking, Draco pointed his own wand at the terrified boy, snapping out a mild memory charm and a disorienting hex in rapid succession.  Confused, the boy staggered down the corridor in the direction from which he had come, his eyes unfocused.  Trembling, Draco backed away from the body on the floor.  The charms he had leveled at the boy wouldn't last long, he knew.  But- what should he do?  When the memory charm wore off the boy would scream Hogwarts down, accusing Draco of murdering the body in the corridor.  And knowing who his father was, nobody would doubt Draco's guilt.  He'd be getting up close and personal with a Dementor before the ink was dry on the parchment informing his father that he had been arrested.        

He… he had to leave.  

Leave.  Right away, before anyone connected him with this.  He could pack his things and be long gone tonight.  He had money stashed all over Europe- the Malfoys believed in being prepared, and Draco's trust fund had been tucked into untraceable accounts accessible only by him as soon as he turned fifteen.  He could go to France.  He had a Portkey to his late grandmother's house.  He had inherited it upon her death, and although he had never been there he had frequently heard her complain about its isolation and emptiness.  Perfect.  There was no need to panic.  He could owl his father from France, come up with some convincing lies to spread around, and return when they discovered who had actually killed the poor bastard in the hall.  

His heart rate began to return to normal.  Smoothing back his hair, Draco dusted off his robes and strode briskly toward the dungeons, thinking about what he'd need to pack.  As his confidence returned, his mind wandered to the long weeks ahead.  It would be so boring, all alone in an empty manor house in the French countryside.  Maybe… maybe he could risk a little companionship….

***** 

Ginny was sitting on her bed in the empty dorm room, working on some homework and enjoying the silence.  Letty had dropped her sweetness and light act as soon as she had stepped back into the common room, looking rumpled and self-satisfied.  "Would you mind _too_ terribly staying out of the way when I'm with my boyfriend, Ginny, dear?  Why don't you go pester your brother and his friends?  I'm sure they wouldn't mind playing with you.  Well, then again, maybe they would…."  Ginny knew the truth of this only too well, and was only grateful that Ron, Hermione, and Harry hadn't been there to overhear Letty's spiteful little speech.  They would felt obliged to comfort her, and she was getting _very_ tired of being the object of their pity.  

But rather than respond, Ginny had simply sighed, gathered up her parchment and quill, and headed upstairs.  Letty was an utter cow, but it never helped to fight with her.  A sudden tapping at the dormitory window startled her, and she moved to open it.  A large, handsome owl flapped in, dropping a note on Letty's bed.  The wax sealing it shut was stamped with a distinctive "M".  Hooting at her quietly, the owl flapped out again, spiraling away into the night.  Ginny pulled the window shut again, her eyes on the note.  

The Weasley blood in her, the same blood that pumped through the veins of Fred and George Weasley, the most inventive pranksters Hogwarts had ever seen, practically begged her to open it.  Trembling, her hand reached toward it.  After all, if it was nothing, she could just seal it shut again with a wave of her wand.  Almost without realizing it, she broke the seal on the letter and unfolded it.

_Letty-_

_Meet me in the astronomy tower in twenty minutes.  Wear a hood- we're going on a trip._

_-D. M._

It was nothing.  Sighing, Ginny reached for her wand, waving it over the letter, repairing the seal.  But for some reason, her eyes fell on the cloak hanging off the post of Letty's bed.  The deep hood would easily cover her entire face.  Draco would never know the difference- she could tell him anything.  If she pretended to be Letty she could, say, break it off with him, in a really, really, really humiliating way.  Blame it on his, er, physical inadequacies….            

Did she dare?  

The girl Ginny Weasley _should_ have been- the beloved, happy only daughter of a huge family, capable and bright and strong- she would have dared.  The girl she was before Harry Potter, before Tom Riddle, would have done it in a heartbeat.  It was an opportunity for revenge- one she _knew_ she could get away with.  Taking a deep breath, Ginny grabbed the cloak off of Letty's bedpost, pulling it on and dragging the hood up over her bright hair.  

TBC


	2. Chapter Two

Author's Note:  Good Lord, the pages for this category move fast, don't they?  Thank you so much for the kind reviews.  I have this entire fic planned out (a first for me) so hopefully it won't take too long for me to finish it.  If people are expecting it to follow the Heyer storyline too closely, though, I'm afraid I'm going to disappoint them.  This fic was definitely inspired by the book "Devil's Cub", but was not meant to be an exact parallel of it. 

Rating: Still R

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

Part Two:

Draco sat in the stairwell, arms crossed, fingers tapping out an impatient tattoo on his knee.  Where was the blasted girl?  How long could it take her to drag her lovely body up two flights of stairs?  Another minute and he was leaving without her- she wasn't _that_ great in be-

"Hello, darling!"  A hooded figure ran lightly up the steps toward him.  _Finally_.   "I'm so sorry I took so long! I got your note, but I had to spend a few minutes freshening up-"

"It's fine.  Listen…."  Standing up and shouldering his bag, Draco held out an impatient hand toward the girl.  She seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then laid her hand in his.  It felt a little different for some reason- smaller, more delicately boned- but Draco was not currently in a mood to ponder such things.  "I've been called away for the weekend, Letty.  I have to go to my Grandmother's chateau- straighten out a few things.  Wouldn't you like to come with me?"  His voice lowered seductively and he reached out a hand, slipping it into the shadows of her hood, stroking her invisible hair.  It felt a little strange, too.  Softer than usual, missing the charms that kept Letty's glossy blonde waves in place.  "It would give us a chance to be alone for a few days…."

The girl in the cloak took a step back, gracefully pulling away from his hand.  "Well, actually, Draco, there's something I've meaning to tell you," she said, her voice a little regretful.    

"Yes?" he inquired, digging in his bag for the velvet pouch containing the Portkey, only half-listening.  She would agree, he knew.  Girls always did.  

"I'm afraid I'm breaking it off with you, dearest."

"Hmm…"  Where was the damned thing?  He just had it a minute ago.  He couldn't have dropped it, could he?  

"I've decided to leave you for someone who's, well, better able to satisfy my needs.  Don't take this personally, darling, but maybe your family could pay to have your, um, equipment looked at by a medi-wizard.  I hear they're doing wonderful things these days.  Enlargement charms, and so on.  Well, that's all I had to say.  Don't let me keep you- I'll always remember you, Draco.  And, er, enjoy your holiday!"  

Ah, thought Draco, _there_ it was.  Triumphantly, he pulled the pouch out from the bottom of his bag.  And then Letty's words filtered through to him.  

Snaking out a long arm, he grabbed hold of the fluttering robe just before it disappeared around the corner.  Smiling grimly at the startled sound of a feminine gasp, he dragged the girl back against his body.  Reaching up, he pulled the hood back, exposing a pale, terrified face and a telltale fall of copper-colored hair.

**** 

Was he listening to her?  Ginny couldn't tell, but she was on a roll.  Six years of casual insults about her hair, her freckles, and her family were being avenged in one fell swoop.  "…I'll always remember you, Draco," she finished in a kind voice.  "And, er, enjoy your holiday!"

Still not responding, the tall boy continued to fish around in his bag, but that was fine.  Having plenty of experience with unattending boys, Ginny knew that her words would filter through eventually.  Feeling that this could not be improved upon as an exit, Ginny took a half step backwards, turning back the way she had come.  Adrenaline pumped through her.  She forced herself to walk down three more stairs in a ladylike fashion- and then she was going to run like mad.  Really, this standing up for herself wasn't so bad.  Well, so long as she could keep doing it anonymously-

And then a hand fisted at the back of her stolen school robes and she was unceremoniously yanked backwards.  In one swift, furious movement, Draco pulled back her concealing hood, exposing her face and hair.  

For a moment neither spoke, and the only sound they could hear was their own harsh breathing.  

And then Draco began to speak, his voice terrifyingly soft.  "A word of advice, little Weasel.  Lies should always hold a grain of truth- otherwise no one will believe them."  Eyes glittering, he spun her around, crowding her small body against the wall.  "Insulting my body isn't even _remotely_ believable.  Now, if our positions had been reversed…." He let his voice trail off, insolently eyeing her slight figure.

Ginny surprised them both by slapping him.  "_Choke on it_, Malfoy-"

"Temper, temper."  Draco caught her flailing arms, easily holding them in one hand.  One of his cheeks was slightly flushed- the only visible sign that she had hit him.  But the wheels in Draco's head were turning furiously.  What had he told the little brat?  That he was going to his Grandmother's house.  _Damn, damn, damn_.  He was going to have to hex her.  But- if someone else knew about this little prank of hers, it might be a bit risky to have her stumbling back into the Gryffindor common room, blithely claiming no memory of the previous hour.  He needed to get rid of her, make sure she didn't talk to anyone.  

"I said, _let go of me_, you flaming- bloody- _git_!"  The girl was practically hissing at him, twisting her thin wrists in his grasp.  Fury didn't really suit her, Draco thought absently.  Her eyes were dark and glittering, but her face went as red as her hideous hair.  Idly, with the small part of his brain that wasn't focused shutting her up, he wondered just how far that painful blush extended-

His brain chose this moment to present him with an obvious, if unappealing, solution to the problem.  It wasn't a perfect answer, but it was workable, and he didn't have much time.  Sighing deeply, he reached into the pocket of the girl's robe, pulling out her wand, ignoring her hiss of rage.  "I'd apologize for this," he told her, sounding honestly regretful, "But I'm afraid that it is _completely_ your own fault."  Looping one arm around her waist, he shook the Portkey- in this case, an actual key, charmed to magically transfer him and anything he was touching with his bare skin to the Great Hall of his grandmother's house- from the small pouch into his hand.  

And then they were gone, flickering out of the stairwell of the Astronomy Tower as though they had never been there.    

TBC                                                    


	3. Chapter Three

Author's Note:

Thank you all very, very much for your reviews.  It's great to get such positive feedback, particularly on a board that offers the sheer volume of stories that this one does.  

Disclaimer:  Neither the plot nor the characters are mine.  The combination is, though.    

Part Three:

The moment their feet re-materialized on solid ground, Draco loosened his grip on Ginny's waist and stepped away from her.  This proved to be a mistake, at least from her perspective- without the support of his arm, Ginny half-sat, half-collapsed on the stone floor, her limbs trembling and her head dropping onto her knees.  She had never traveled by Portkey before, and if the trip she had just experienced was typical, she devoutly hoped she would never do so again.  She hadn't felt so nauseous in _ages_, not since that incident with the twins and the Christmas pudding-

The girl looked a bit green around the gills, Draco thought, his mouth twisting slightly with distaste.  Hoping he would be spared an introduction to the contents of her stomach, he cast a swift look around them.  They appeared to be in some sort of entranceway.  The room was made entirely out of stone- walls, floor, ceiling- and was empty except for some torches, which magically sprang to life at their entrance, a remarkably beautiful Oriental rug, and a pair of elaborately carved doors.  He could hear nothing but the girl's unsteady breathing.  

It was silent, elegant, and cold as a tomb.  He felt right at home.  

Something was going to have to be done about the girl, though.  And, damn it, he'd forgotten her name again.  Draco stretched out an expensively booted foot and delicately prodded her in the side.  "Eh, Weasley- you all right?"

For a moment, it seemed as though she wasn't going to respond.  But eventually, not bothering to lift her head, Ginny managed a faint "Fine." 

"Good.  You're not going to be sick, I trust?  Because if you are, I imagine that one of these doors probably leads outside-"

"I'm not going to be sick on your bloody carpet, Malfoy."  Her voice sounded a bit steadier, which was a relief to both of them- Ginny was thankful to be spared the indignity of being violently ill in front of a Malfoy, and Draco because he had no intention of cleaning up after a Weasley.  When she finally raised her face from her skinny knees, he noted that her pale skin had lost its greenish tinge.  She raised her gaze to his, her eyes wide and dark.  Her voice sounded a little rusty, as though she didn't use it much.  "Where am I?"

No point in lying to her.  Not at the moment, at any rate.  "France- about two hundred kilometers from the coast."    

"Why?"

This was a bit trickier.  "I- there was a bit of a misunderstanding.  I felt that it would be… prudent of me to disappear from Hogwarts for a few days."

She shook her head.  "No.  I meant, why did _I_ have to-"

"_You_ didn't have to do anything," Draco interrupted, irritation clear in his voice, "At least, not until you chose to stick your freckled nose into other people's correspondence.  Look, I invited your roommate to accompany me on this little jaunt, but _you_ seemed to have other ideas.  I confess, I utterly fail to understand why you interfered, but one thing remains clear: this is _entirely_ your own fault."

"I see."  And she did see.  Ginny, who was always scrupulously honest with herself, could accept that the disastrous situation in which she now found herself _was_ her fault.  This did not, however, make Draco any less of a bastard.  "And when can we- I- go back?"  

For the first time, Draco's air of perfect assurance faltered.  "To be painfully honest, I'm not certain.  I left Goyle a note, asking him to owl me when the situation which, er, inspired my departure was resolved."

Ginny, still dazed, blurted out the first thing that sprang to mind.  "Goyle can read?"

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Draco's mouth.  "Yes.  Look, Weasley- I don't want you here any more than you want to be here, but I'm afraid we're both up the proverbial creek.  We can stay out of each other's way.  It'll only be for a few days."

Biting her lip, the girl stared up at him.  "…you'll keep away from me?  You promise?"

Draco felt vaguely affronted.  Girls did not typically demand that he stay away from them.  Quite the opposite, actually.  On the other hand, this was a Weasley, and they were all barking mad.  He rolled his eyes.  "I swear."

She seemed to pick up on his annoyance.  "I don't mean to be rude, it's just… you know, the better to keep from killing one another."  The slight redhead stood up, one hand pressed against the stone wall for balance.  "Um, where can I sleep?"

Still a trifle irritated, Draco moved briskly toward the doors.  "We'll find you something.  There should be plenty of bedrooms here, although I can't promise much in the way of furniture.  Come along, we'll go and look."  

**** 

Ginny lay in the ancient four-poster, wide-awake.  With a fine disregard for the dangers of tempting fate, she decided that her life could not possibly get any worse.  She was stuck somewhere in France with Draco Malfoy, prat extraordinaire, with no wand, no way to communicate with anyone, and no immediate prospects for getting home.  

Worst of all, she had very little confidence that anyone would even notice her absence.  Ginny had made every effort to fade into the crowd since her disastrous first year, hoping against hope that nobody outside her family circle would ever connect her with Salazar Slytherin.  She had no close friends.  Ron, Hermione, and Harry were clearly involved in another crisis- stalking around the castle for the past few weeks, ignoring everyone else and talking in urgent whispers- so they were out.  In fact, unless one of her teachers noticed that she was absent, which wouldn't happen until Monday at the earliest- or if Letty connected her with the disappearance of her second-best school robes- Ginny was dismally certain that no one would notice if she never appeared at Hogwarts again.

On that cheerful note, she decided to indulge in a hearty bout of tears, and eventually managed to cry herself to sleep.

TBC  


	4. Chapter Four

Author's Note:  Thank you sooooo very much for the reviews.  Two things:

A) Harry is never going to play much of a role in this story, and

B) Don't worry, Ginny doesn't actually look terrible.  Draco just pictures her that way because she's a Weasley.

About the Harry thing: this may sound stupid, but I avoid Harry/Ginny fanfiction because I think J.K. Rowling is definitely planning to have them end up together.  I feel like she's writing _their_ story, so why should we fanfic writers bother?  She'll take care of it, and she'll do a wonderful job.  On the other hand, writing Draco and Ginny's story is the job- no, the _duty_- of fanfic writers.  And the Draco-not-seeing-Ginny thing is because, well, at this point in the story he's still quite an asshole.

That said, I hope you all enjoy:   

Part Four

Ginny woke up the next morning feeling, if not better, at least considerably less melodramatic.  She might be stuck in France with the world's biggest prat, but crying wasn't going to improve matters.  Breakfast, on the other hand, would.  So, after washing her face and cleaning her teeth as best she could in the tiny half-bath attached to her room, she set off in search of some.  

Eventually, Ginny's wandering brought her to an arched doorway that opened into an enormous, high-ceilinged dining room.  A table the roughly the size and shape of a small swimming pool ran the length of it, and in one ornate chair slouched Draco, drumming his fingers on the tabletop and looking bored out of his wits.  "Morning, Malfoy," Ginny muttered, and immediately felt like an idiot.  This wasn't a sleepover.  But what was she supposed to say?  'Take me home, you kidnapping rat-bastard?'  It might make her feel better in the short run, but it seemed highly unlikely to improve her chances of getting any breakfast.  And breakfast, Ginny's empty stomach reminded her with a rumble, was the most important meal of the day.

"I would like some breakfast," Draco announced when he caught sight of her, straightening in his chair.  

_Dandy_, thought Ginny.  "So would I."

They looked at one another expectantly.

A brief silence fell.

"…Well?"  They said in unison.  

"Well, what?" asked Ginny, genuinely confused.  "This is _your_ house."  And she was the guest.  Well, more or less.  She wasn't perfectly clear on kidnapping etiquette.  

"Weasley," the older boy said, staring down his aristocratic nose at her, "I have never in my entire life worried about where my next meal was coming from.  I was expecting that _you_-"

Ginny's eyes narrowed- a dangerous sign, as anyone who had known her before she went to Hogwarts knew- and she abruptly decided that it was too early in the morning to listen to Draco being a fathead.  "Well, bully for you, Malfoy," she interrupted.  "But as a matter of fact, I haven't either.  _My_ family may not be able to afford to buy our way onto mediocre Quidditch teams, but I can assure you that we don't need to worry about having enough to-"                             

"No," interrupted Draco, his chilly voice impatient.  "You don't understand, Weasley.  I don't worry about breakfast because I've never had anything to do with it- or any other meal.  Not ever.  Food just shows up.  I get hungry, I sit down, and there it is.  I assumed that you- a person presumably more familiar with the mysteries of getting food on the table- might have some idea as to what to do."  He arched a brow.  "Or am I overestimating your capabilities?"  

"Oh."  Ginny mulled this one over.  Her brain seemed to move more slowly when her blood sugar was low.  Her temper was considerably quicker, though.  "So what you're saying is, you don't know where the kitchens are either."

Draco rolled his eyes.  "Give the girl a prize.  And even if I did know where they were, there's nothing in them.  No one lives here, remember?"

"Piss off, Malfoy," Ginny said waspishly, and then dropped in a chair.  Scowling, she too began to drum her fingers on the table.  God, she was hungry.  And the pampered idiot across the table from her was clearly going to be absolutely no help.  

Draco raised another brow at the formerly meek girl's sharp tone.  She seemed rather out of sorts this morning.  Feistier than he remembered her being, though.  "What's the matter with you?"

"I'm _hungry_."  

"And, what, skipping one meal transforms you from a mouse into a She-Troll?"

"Did I not just tell you to piss off?"  

"Such devastating wit," said Draco, false admiration dripping from his voice.  "How _do_ you do it?  And so early in the morning, too."

The only thing that stopped Ginny from chucking something at him was the utter absence of things to throw.  The room was empty except for the chairs and table, both of which looked too heavy to lift.  In the end, she was forced to settle for growling at him.

Draco just snickered, making Ginny reconsider her position on the chairs.  She could probably manage to heft one of the damn things, if she really put her back into it- "Enough," he said, interrupting her plan of attack with a wave of one pale hand.  "Clearly, we're going to need to go into the village for some supplies."  

Ginny straightened in her chair.  If they went into a town she could ask someone for help-

"A _Muggle_ town," said Draco, distaste dripping from every syllable.  "Regrettably, it's the only thing for miles.  We'll have to deal with that ridiculous money, too.  There's some in the chest in my room."

Damn.  No Muggle was going to be able to get a message to Hogwarts.  Ginny sighed.  "Fine.  I'm not much of a cook, though, so we're going to need to buy some very simple things."

"Typical," Draco rolled his eyes.  "I'm not paying for whatever disgusting peasant food you usually eat, Weasley.  You'll either make something edible or you won't eat, is that cl-"

"And you'll get to do all the washing up, of course," interrupted Ginny, satisfaction audible in her voice.  Lack of food had always made her spiteful.  "That's a sight I'm looking forward to.  D'you reckon we can find you a little apron?  It'd be a crying shame to get those lovely robes all soapy…."

"I most certainly will not," said Draco, gaping at her as though she'd gone mad.  "I've never washed anything in my entire life."

"My heart weeps for you," Ginny said sweetly, her eyes glittering with malicious enjoyment.  "But either you wash, or I don't cook."

This time it was Draco's turn to growl, and Ginny treasured the sound. Without another word, he turned and swept from the room, his long legs moving swiftly.  Feeling vaguely triumphant, Ginny trotted after him.

**** 

After collected the mystifying heap of Muggle money from the chest in Draco's room, the two began the long walk to the village.  Draco hadn't opened his mouth or altered his expression since the debate over washing the dishes had ended, and Ginny was beginning to feel more than a little uncomfortable.  Not uncomfortable enough to give in, however.  As they walked, her hunger-induced short temper began to drift into the depressed stage.  She was just starting to sadly meditate upon the many evils of her situation when Draco turned around, his movements so sudden that Ginny barely managed to keep from crashing into him.  "Fine," he said, scowling at her.  "I'll wash the blasted dishes.  But you'll need to show me how."

Ginny refrained from rolling her eyes.  Barely.  "It's easy.  You get them wet, get them soapy, get them wet again, and they're done."

"Easy for you, perhaps," Draco said loftily.  "You have plebian roots.  _I_, on the other hand-"

Ginny giggled.  She couldn't help it.  _Plebian roots_?

"_What_?" Draco demanded.                                                                                                             

"Are you always this much of a prat, or is there just something about me that brings out the worst in you?"  A small, terrified part of Ginny was aghast at how bold she was being- she would never have been this brave at Hogwarts.  And yet… she felt strangely sure that Draco wasn't going to hurt her, his Dark Arts background notwithstanding.  And they _were_ stuck together.  And it seemed fairly obvious that if she didn't stand up for herself, Draco would happily walk all over her.  Whatever the reason, for the first time in almost five years she felt reasonably sure that the world wouldn't end if she showed a little backbone.

Draco, on other hand, was staring at her as though she'd grown another head.  "I _beg_ your pardon?"

"I said, 'Are you always this-'"

"I heard you the first time," he ground out.  "But why, may I ask, are _you_ calling _me_ a prat?"

The ghost of a grin flickered on Ginny's face.  "Come on, Malfoy.  I mean, 'plebian roots'?  Don't you ever say _anything_ different?"  She gave a little skip, and then began speaking in a high, falsetto voice with a squeakily upper-crust accent.  "Hello, world, I'm Draco Malfoy!  Did _you_ know that I'm richer than God?  And that it makes me terribly, terribly special?  No?  Why, that must be because you're a vulgar peasant!"            

"Shut up, Weasley!"  Draco barked, frowning at her.  

But the wretched girl only laughed and continued down the hill, her arms swinging cheerfully.  And after a moment Draco followed her, feeling, for the first time in recent memory, more than a little confused.         

TBC

Next:  Draco and Ginny play happy homemaker!                


	5. Chapter Five

Author's Note:  Thank everyone so much for your reviews.  I'm really excited about this story, and I hope you're pleased with what I've done thus far.  As ever, let me know what you think.  *looks brave*  I can take it.  

Part Five:

Over the past five years, Ginny Weasley had pretty much perfected the art of being mild-mannered.  It was best, she figured, for a girl with flaming-red hair, six distinctive brothers, and, of course, a big ol' honking secret to keep her mouth shut and her temper on a very short leash.  This was a reasonable plan, and it had worked reasonably well- for the most part, Ginny's fellow students didn't think about her at all, and on the rare occasions when they did it was with vague pity.  She was the shy one, the quiet one, and that was perfectly fine with her.  

But that was before she had spent twenty-four hours in the presence of Draco Malfoy.  If he made one more comment about her hair, her family, or her financial status, she was going to brain him with an iron skillet. 

"Put.  That.  DOWN, Malfoy!"  

He looked injured.  "What?  _You_ said we needed to add salt to the water."  

"A _pinch_ of salt.  Not half the bloody box!"

"Well," Draco said reasonably, "How should I know?"

Ginny closed her eyes and breathed in deeply through her nose, silently counting to ten.  He was, bar none, the most irritating male she had ever met, and considering her brothers, that was saying something.  "Malfoy, why are you doing this to me?  Isn't there somewhere else you'd rather be?"  She hunted for something- anything- to distract him.  "Why don't you go back down to the village and finish chatting up that Muggle shop girl?  I think she really fancied you."  _Of course_, she added silently, _there is the slight problem of the language barrier, but frankly, I think not being able to understand you could only increase your sex appeal._

"What, you don't appreciate me helping you?"

"Torturing me, more like," Ginny muttered, scowling into the pot of tomato sauce she was stirring.

He narrowed his eyes at her.  "You should be grateful, you know.   Malfoys do not customarily offer domestic assistance.  Or, for that matter, any assistance.  One would assume that you would be more gracious about accepting help- after all, the Ministry must give your parents quite a bit of financial-"  

Ginny shoved back her hair with a narrow, freckled hand and tried, once again, counting to ten.  _One, two, thr- bugger it_.  She whirled on the tall boy, pointing her dripping, tomato-y spoon at him.   "Look, Malfoy, I'm having enough trouble as it is with this whole cooking thing.  You pestering me?  Not helpful."

"I am not pestering you," Draco sounded genuinely affronted.  "Malfoys do not 'pester'.  At the very least, they inflict severe emotional distress."

"Right," Ginny said, staring at him in disbelief, her spoon still dripping  "Sorry.  I can see how important it is to make that distinction.  Not pestering.  Just hanging around the kitchen, inflicting _severe emotional distress_-"

"That's better," interrupted Draco.

"-with your incessant whining!"

"Malfoys, little Weasel, do _not_ whin-"

She made a strange sound, halfway between a growl and a shriek, and advanced on him, her spoon held out like a sword.  "Get _out_, you obnoxious-"

"I'm leaving, Weasley."  Assuming his loftiest expression, the Slytherin boy gracefully swept out.  He couldn't help but feel a trifle sulky.  See if he offered to help the little Weasley brat again.  _Not that she seemed to need much help_, pointed out a tiny voice in his head.  When they had arrived at the little village market that morning Ginny had quietly taken charge, briskly loading up a handcart with cereal, milk, fruit, cheese, and an array of mysterious-looking packages and tins.  Draco had passed the time by idly flirting with the clerk, a pretty girl of about his own age who didn't seem to mind his truly appalling French.  That had been mildly entertaining, but now that they were back at the house he was left with nothing to do.  Whatever that Weasley girl had been stirring had looked a bit like Potions work.  

Damn it, he _liked_ Potions.  

But if she chose to be ungrateful, that was fine.  He could entertain himself.  He had gone exploring earlier.  The huge old house had clearly been stripped of most of its more valuable furniture, but it still offered plenty of entertainment options.  There were a few boring-looking books (in French, which he could barely read) in the library, an ancient Victrola (which he didn't know how to use) in the drawing room, and some musty newspapers (which were in French, smelled bad, _and_ appeared to be the primary residence for a large family of mice) in a box in the cellars.    

Draco paused and considered his choices.  Perhaps he should return to the kitchen- just to make sure that the ungrateful little brat didn't ruin his evening meal.  

Preferring not to examine his motives too closely, Draco turned back down the stairs and swept back into the kitchen.  The girl stood in profile, her impossible hair caught up in a rather untidy knot at the nape of her neck.  It was strange, he thought idly- in the dim light from the fire and candles that illuminated the room, she didn't look that terrible.  In fact, if she hadn't been a Weasley, he might even have- 

With a start, Draco realized exactly which garden path his thoughts were trotting down.  Not a bloody chance in hell, he thought, giving a mental shudder.  The thought of feeling anything for a Weasley other than pure loathing- even mild lust- was utterly appalling.  He _knew_ he should have brought Letty, he thought ruefully.  Twenty-four hours without a sexual outlet and a young man's brains turn to-

"What now, Malfoy?"  The girl sounded… tired.  Draco almost pitied her.  

"I thought you could use some help," he said. 

"Not yours," she said simply.

"Manners, Miss Weasley, manners…." As he spoke, a vision of spending his evening trying to decipher French gardening texts flashed in Draco's mind and he stopped, mid-nasty comment.  "Weasley, it's _really_ boring here.  We'll go raving mad if we don't talk to each other.  I'll… behave."

She stared at him, suspicion bright in her eyes.  "Right, Malfoy."

"I swear it," he said quietly.

Ginny sighed, swiping at her an errant curl stuck to her forehead with the back of one hand.  "All right," she hesitated.  "Look… I know it's as much my fault as yours that we're stuck together.  But I cannot and will not listen to you sniping at my family, got it?  I don't snipe at your parents, do I?"  She scowled, her lips hardening into a firm line.  "And believe me, it's not due to a lack of material," she muttered.

Draco raised a brow at her- what was she gibbering on about?  He almost asked (using exactly that phrase) before remembering his promise.  Swallowing back the nasty comment, he merely held out his hand.  With only a slight rolling of the eyes, he managed an almost-pleasant: "Right.  No jeering at the Weasley… clan."

Looking at him like he had sprouted an extra nose, Ginny cautiously shook his hand before turning back to her tomato sauce.    

"So," Draco said, after discretely wiping off the Weasley-infected hand on his robes, "Can I, er, stir something?"

TBC


	6. Chapter Six

Author's (Epic) Note:  

Wow!  Many reviews!  Also some e-mails!  Thank you all very much- I do love reviews.  I hope everyone is okay with this chapter.  This is the last time I'll be taking something directly from Heyer's _Devil's Cub_- and working this scene into my fic was not mad fun, let me tell you.  But I really, really, really love this scene in the Heyer novel and I didn't think that my semi-crossover would be complete without it.  And again, if you're unfamiliar with Georgette Heyer, please check her out!  You'll find her stuff in public libraries and used bookstores.  She's totally badass, I promise.  I recommend _The Grand Sophy_, _Arabella_, _Cotillion_ (my personal favorite), _The Unknown Ajax_, _The Talisman Ring_, and, of course, _Devil's Cub_.  

Ooh, one other thing.  I just read a really good fic ("Jewel of the Harem" by **Anise**, in case you were wondering) and she mentioned that she had, like, three betas.  (And it shows- that is one polished story.)  I'd _really_ like a beta.  Alas, what you see before you is the result of one re-read, my degree in literature, and the Microsoft Word spell check.  Not a perfect system.  But where does one get a beta?  Any help would be much appreciated.  Thanks again!

By the way, this is the chapter where that "R" rating kicks in.  And it's longer than anything I've written before.  Please review!

Part Six

Washing-up, Draco soon discovered, was not nearly as entertaining as cooking.  His elegant fingertips were disgustingly wrinkly, his expensive robes were soaked, and his dignity had been dealt a terrible blow.  Despite his best efforts to evict her, the abominable Weasley had flat-out refused to leave the kitchen, blinking innocently up at him.  "But Malfoy," she had said, oozing sincerity from every freckle, "What if you get confused?  It's a _very_ complicated process, washing up is."  Looking quite saintly, she helped herself to an apple and settled down on an adjoining countertop to watch him scrub, helpfully pointing out any spots he missed.  

After what seemed like untold hours of humiliation, Draco _finally_ set the last gleaming dish on the drying rack and stalked out of the kitchen, intent on finding himself some alcohol- any type, he wasn't picky.  Twenty minutes spent poking around in the cellars yielded pay dirt: two dusty bottles of a very old and very expensive wine.  Nabbing a water goblet from the kitchen, he settled down in the dining room, planning to do his damnedest to wipe all thoughts of his current situation, his ridiculous housemate, and the horrors of dishwashing from his mind.  

Ginny found him there an hour later, one bottle mostly gone and the other primed and ready.  Good Lord.  If she'd drunk half that much in twice the time she'd be out cold.  He didn't look that far gone, actually, she noticed.  His hands were steady as he lifted the goblet, but his eyes were very, very bright.  They were rather nice eyes, she thought idly.  Or they would be, if they didn't belong to the world's biggest wanker.  Eyeing the nearly empty bottle, she hesitated.  "Er… Malfoy?"

He rolled his head toward her, focusing those too-bright eyes on her face.  "Ahh, Weasley.  What can I do for you?"  His voice was, rather disturbingly, as precise as ever.  

Ginny felt a stirring of vague alarm.  A drunk Malfoy was an unpredictable Malfoy.  "I was wondering if you wanted to play, er, cards, or something, but I can see that you're busy, so I'll just-"

He interrupted her.  "Would you like some wine?"

"Er, no."  Ginny took a step backwards.  For some reason, being somewhere else was sounding _really_ good right now.  "Thanks, but I think I'll just go to bed."  She offered him a weak smile.  "See you in the morn-"

"Sit down, Weasley."  His voice was utterly compelling, and in the back of her mind, Ginny wondered if those rumors about him having a vampire relative were true.  

She swallowed.  "I'd prefer not to," she said honestly.  

Draco grinned at her suddenly, his excellent teeth showing in a rather feral smile.  "What are you fretting about, little Weasel?  Worried I'm going to attack you?"

"Sort of," Ginny said, before she could stop herself.

"Here, then," he replied, digging in his breast pocket and fishing out his slender black wand.  "Take it," he said, tossing it to her.  "If I go absolutely nutters and try to kiss you, feel free to point that at me and yell whatever curse you like.  Who knows?  You might even get lucky and someone from the ministry will be monitoring this spot and come marching out here to save you."  

Gingerly, Ginny took the wand from him and slid it into her skirt pocket.  She'd use it, but only as a last resort.  Using other people's wands was risky- any child that had visited a wand shop knew that.  Sometimes the wand did what you wanted it to, but more often it didn't.  Still, she felt a tiny bit safer knowing that she had a weapon.  She chose a seat across from Malfoy, smoothing out her skirt and settling her hands in her lap.  "So," she began, "Um, about those cards?  Or maybe chess?  I found a chess set."

He seemed have lost interest in her, pouring the last bit of wine into his glass.  "Hmm.  We'll see."

God, she wanted out of there.  Ginny began to twiddle her thumbs, considering her retreat options.  She knew seeking Malfoy out had been a bad idea, but she had been so bloody bored….

Across the table, Draco settled back in his chair, glass in hand, and looked at her.  Really looked at her, surveying every inch of her visible above the dusty tabletop, evaluating her with the air of a connoisseur.  His unwanted houseguest wasn't beautiful, his wine-sodden mind decided, but her figure was good, her features passably pretty, and her hair- well, even drunk, he shuddered at her hair- but he was willing to overlook it.  In short: she was a reasonably attractive young woman, he was a very over-sexed young man, and unless the girl knew some _damn_ entertaining card games, seducing her seemed like the only worthwhile way to spend an evening in this godforsaken spot.  His mind thus made up, Draco directed his most seductive stare in Ginny's direction, lazily quirking a brow at her.  

"What?"  Why was he staring at her like that?  Was there something in her hair?  Oh, God, was it a spider?  It would be just like Malfoy to sit back and enjoy the sight of an enormous, hairy, revolting spider crawling across her head!  Frantically, Ginny began smoothing down her hair, fingers threading through the bright coppery strands, hunting for the phantom spider.  

Draco's smile turned feline as he watched Ginny fiddle with her hair.  Vanity, he thought, thy name is Weasley.  Clearly, the stare was working.  Still smirking, he silently pushed back his chair and stood up.  He walked round table, pulling out a chair next to Ginny's and sliding gracefully into it.  "So," he said quietly, "You said you wanted to play a game?"

Startled by his nearness, Ginny jerked her attention away from her hair.  Her instincts warned her that the pale boy who seemed to have materialized in the chair beside her was a considerably bigger threat that even the most disgusting spider.  What had he said?  Oh.  "Right.  Maybe, um, poker?  Or blackjack? Or-"

Draco reached out a pale hand and very gently touched her hair, smoothing a bright strand behind her ear.  

"-Go Fish?"  Ginny finished weakly.  Ah.  Clearly, Malfoy hadn't seen a spider.  "Ummm- what are you doing, Malfoy?"  She didn't want to know the answer, she was certain.  Well, almost certain.  He looked… hungry.  

Draco only smiled in response, leaning forward and very delicately brushing his lips over her neck.  Once, twice.  He could feel her heart rate speed up under his mouth, the pulse fluttering wildly underneath the fragile skin.  She tasted surprisingly good, some part of his brain registered.  Like honey.

"Back off, Malfoy."   But the girl's voice was no stronger than a whisper.  Ignoring her weak protest, Draco slipped one hand into her hair- despite the terrible color, it was heavy and smooth between his fingers- and trailed the other down the side of her arm, intending to slide it under the soft wool of her jumper.  "Stop.  I… I'll use the wand."

Draco bit her neck, very gently, and smirked at her almost inaudible gasp.  "Right," he murmured, kissing a pathway from her collarbone to the spot behind her ear.  "Carry on, then."  

"I mean it," she whispered.  A tiny, disloyal voice in her head idly mentioned that whatever he was doing felt quite good, but the rest of her- all the sane bits- pointed out that this entire situation was absolutely bloody _INSANE_.    

Unseen by her, Draco's smile widened.  "No," he whispered against her neck, "Oh no, little weasel, you really don't."

Right then.  Resolutely, Ginny pulled the wand from her pocket, pointed it at him, shut her eyes, and murmured a single word.  "_Stupefy_."  

_BANG_.  The borrowed wand jerked in her hand, shooting out a beam of bright green light and a puff of foul-smelling smoke.  Not quite what she'd been hoping for.  Reluctantly, Ginny opened one eye.  

Draco pulled away from her, still graceful, and looked down at the gaping wound she had just blown in his side.  "Right," he said, calmly.  "My mistake."  

And then he fainted dead away.

"Well, _bugger_," said Ginny.  

TBC


	7. Chapter Seven

  
Author's Note, with Accompanying Apology:   
  
Heh. Been gone awhile, haven't I? I can only say that I'm sorry, and that I've been A) busy and B) lazy. Also, that I probably would have continued to be lazy for quite a bit longer if it wasn't for the emails and reviews I've received. Thank you all very much. I hope I haven't lost all my readers.   
  
Added 3/8/03   
I've been trying to post this for two days, but FF.net is being uppity. Hopefully this will go up.   
  
Disclaimer:   
Not mine.   
  
Dedication: To Meg, JAY JAY, Amber, MoniLuv325, and Hyun Suk Park Cho, who have clearly learned the fine art of mixing flattery with nagging. I really appreciated your emails. And for Kori and Crystal, who actually helped me get this damn thing on the web.   
  
  
Chapter Seven   
  
  
2:07 AM   
  
Draco woke up to a pounding headache, a hot, stabbing pain in his side, and the less-than-musical sound of Ginny Weasley muttering what sounded like a lecture at him. "...all quite your own fault, you know. Did I ask you to attack me? No, I most certainly did not. Or get disgustingly drunk? Again, no. Or kidnap me? No." She paused. "Well, maybe a bit. But the rest of it was all you, Malfoy, so if this hurts, well, um... good." Draco barely had time to register the sensation of liquid being poured over the wound in his side before the sharp pain flamed unbearably and he returned to the land of the blissfully unconscious.   
  
  
****   
  
  
2:13 AM   
  
He awoke again a few moments later and immediately wished that he hadn't. Ginny was sewing his side together with tiny, precise stitches, a brace of candles set nearby. "What what are you _doing_?" he gasped. God, he could feel the thread slowly pulling through his flesh. It was ghastly.   
  
Ginny didn't look up. "Fixing you. I couldn't discover where you'd hidden my wand, and, well, yours doesn't seem to like me, so I'm doing this the muggle way. Now," she said, her voice grim, "Unless you intend to produce my wand- which is what any sane person would do- shut up. You're distracting me."   
  
Trying to focus past the pain, Draco considered his situation. He was in considerable discomfort, but things could be worse. He was quite good at judging the severity of injuries, and this didn't feel life-threatening. Painful as all hell, but not fatal. "Weasley?"   
  
"Hmm?"   
  
"You do know what you're doing, right? I realize that you must have plenty of experience mending tattered things, but this is my-"   
  
"Don't fret, Malfoy," Ginny said dryly. "I have lots of experience with stitches. I _am_ Fred and George's little sister." A faint, wry smile ghosted around her mouth. "We're all quite good at patching each other up. It was usually best not to let my mother know about the occasional scrape," she said conversationally, pausing to peer at her handiwork. "There. It'll leave a scar, but you'll survive. Of course, if you don't want a scar marring your-"   
  
"Exquisite physique?" Draco interrupted, his voice raspy.   
  
"-skinny, pasty chest," she continued calmly, ignoring him. She stood, stretching slowly, her joints popping, "Then you'll have to turn over my wand or try to heal yourself."   
  
"And have you setting off every alarm the Ministry's got?" He shifted slightly, hissing at the pain. "Thanks ever so, Weasel, but I think not." Taking a deep breath, Draco attempted to sit up- and promptly passed out again.   
  
  
****   
  
2:21   
  
"Well, that was just _idiotic_, Malfoy," Ginny was saying irritably. "What are you trying to _do_?"   
  
One grey eye cracked open. "Ow."   
  
Ginny- actually, six rather blurry Ginnys, but he was really hoping he'd be down to one in a minute- was standing beside him, hands on her slim hips, a look of pure disgust on her pale little face. "Are you _trying_ to tear my stitches? What, is the thread not good enough? Let me guess- Malfoys need to be stitched with cloth of gold."   
  
A thought occurred to him, snaking through the pain. If there weren't actually six Ginnys, how did she manage to get him into a bed? No wand. Couldn't have lifted him- and she was a puny little thing.   
  
"I am NOT puny," Ginny snapped, alerting Draco to the fact that he had apparently been talking out loud. "And I levitated your chair. Your stupid wand let me do that much, at least. I thought about levitating you," she continued waspishly, "but if you got splinched, who'd clear up the mess?"   
  
"Y'know, I don't remember you being this bitchy, Weasel. In fact," Draco whispered, pain lending a sharp edge to his temper. "I hardly remember you at all. Just a sad, ugly little shadow, drifting around Hogwarts, mooning after Potter. Actually, you and that ridiculous ghost in the girls' lavatory- what's her name? Mildred?- make quite a pair-"   
  
A tight, pinched look had appeared around the edges of Ginny's mouth, but her voice was quiet and steady. "Don't, Malfoy."   
  
"I hear she fancies Potter as well-"   
  
"Shut _up_ , Malfoy."   
  
"But," Draco finished maliciously, his eyelids fluttering shut, "She probably has a better chance of getting him."   
  
"I don't fancy Harry!" Ginny snapped, her composure worn thin.   
  
He could hear the tears in her voice, and felt a tiny bit better. _Good_. Someone else should be in pain. He shouldn't have to suffer alone.   
  
"I don't," she repeated, her voice a whisper.   
  
"Since when?" Draco didn't particularly care, but fighting with the Weasel helped to distract him from the pain.   
  
"Fifth year."   
  
"Why?" Some of the animosity left his tone, leaving behind what sounded like honest curiosity.   
  
Ginny stared at him. The pale boy was lying flat on his back, eyes shut, brows drawn together, and an unsightly bandage made from a torn-up pillowcase wrapped tightly around his chest. "Why do you want to know?" she asked finally.   
  
Draco shifted one shoulder a fraction, the closest he could get to a shrug. "Christ, I don't care, Weasel. Look, your love life is not ordinarily something I give much thought to. Just curious, I suppose."   
  
"He told me I had to wait," she blurted out, much to her own surprise. She'd never told anyone about the conversation she and Harry had had one hazy summer afternoon, alone in the Burrow, and couldn't imagine why she was doing so now.   
  
A silence fell. "Wait for what?" Draco finally inquired, mildly interested. "Sex?"   
  
"No," Ginny half-shouted, her cheeks flushing. "Him."   
  
Draco gave a weak chuckle. "He said you had to wait for him? Like 'Sit, Weasley! Stay!'?"   
  
Ginny smiled a little. She couldn't help it. The memory of Harry sitting down on the narrow chair in her hot, narrow bedroom, both of them blushing to the ears, his green eyes serious, was still hideously fresh. "Exactly like. He was really nice, really kind, but he acted like I was a particularly loyal pet. Or a doll- something he could leave on a shelf and play with later. He was visiting us for the end of the summer, and one day he just walked into my room and explained that he knew that I had feelings for him, and that I'd have to wait, but after everything was over, he'd- he'd...."   
  
"Play with you?" Draco finished snidely.   
  
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Mind out of the gutter, Malfoy. But, er, yes. We could, y'know, see each other." Her voice sharpened. "When _he_ was ready. When _his_ life was perfect. Meanwhile, I would naturally wait patiently for the good news that he was ready to date me."   
  
Draco smirked. "Weasley, I've been saying for _years_ that the boy has a swelled head." He quirked a brow. "Didn't quite think that you'd be the first non-Slytherin to agree with me, though."   
  
Ginny shrugged a little, still blushing. She still didn't understand why she was telling him this. For some reason, whispering her secrets to Draco Malfoy- heartless bastard extraordinaire- was frighteningly easy in the quiet, candlelit room. "I don't, not really. Harry's great, it's just that I want...." She trailed off. _Someone to want me enough to not care whether or not it's the perfect time_, she finished silently.   
  
"Want what?" Draco asked. His attention was beginning to fade in and out, exhaustion and pain wearing him thin.   
  
"Nothing," she said firmly, smothering her own enormous yawn. "Shouldn't have said anything." She grinned faintly, leaning back in her chair and rubbing at the delicate shadows beneath her eyes. "With any luck, you'll forget everything I just said. Now shut up, Malfoy. You need rest." She reached out a slim, freckled hand and snuffed the candles.   
  
Willing, for once in his young, disagreeable life, to be obliging, Draco Malfoy shut his eyes and slipped gratefully into sleep.   
  
  
****   
  
6:48 AM   
  
When Draco next woke, Ginny was asleep in the chair beside him, her head and upper arms pillowed on the bed. With an odd, sinking sensation in his stomach, Draco realized that at some point in the past few hours he had slid his hand into the thick, coppercolored mass of Virginia Weasley's hair and had tangled several strands loosely around his fingers.   
  
And the color- _damn it, damn it, damn it_- he thought with sudden horror, was rather starting to grow on him.   


  
To Be Continued- Soon! I promise!   



	8. Chapter Eight

Author's Note: Hiya, everybody! So- what did y'all think of book five? What was up with Rowling's new-and-improved Ginny? She's over Harry now, so she has a completely new personality? If a fanfic author had done that, I'd be like: "Let's have a little talk about something we like to call 'character development'." But I loved how she made James into kind of a jackass, so I forgive her. I thought it was the most daring thing she's done thus far. 

Anyway, I want to thank all of you who reviewed the last chapter, particularly those of you e-mailed me to nag. Keep nagging, I respond well to it. (It's my Catholic upbringing.) And Suzie: Harlequin owns the rights to several Heyer novels, and they recently reprinted three of my favorites, Devil's Cub, The Nonesuch, and The Grand Sophy. (The Grand Sophy makes my Georgette Heyer top-three list, right behind The Unknown Ajax at number two and Cotillion at number one.) If you haven't read any of these, please check them out. 

One more thing: Kori, I apologize for not sending this to you for beta-ing, but I can't find your e-mail address! Could you just e-mail me if you see any huge errors/typos/whatever?

Part Eight:

It was positively sickening, Draco thought irritably, fingering a lock of coppery hair. Being attracted to Ginny Weasley was about as appropriate as mad lust for Filch. 

Actually, his father would probably prove more understanding about Filch. 

And yet here he was, stretched out on a very uncomfortable antique wrought-iron bed, watching Ginny Weasley sleep. Actually enjoying it. She had slumped forward at some point during the wee hours and her head was currently resting against the curve of his ribcage, her hair spilling along his side and trailing over his arm. It should have been appalling. He paused, desperately hoping to work up some healthy disgust. 

No dice. 

He sighed, which had the undesirable side effect of waking Ginny. Draco couldn't have dropped the curl he'd been playing with any faster if it had jumped up and bit him. 

Ginny sat up with a moan, one freckled hand going up to massage her neck. "Ow...." Slowly, her eyes fluttered open and focused on him. She immediately blushed a furious pink, but managed to speak without stuttering. "Hi, Malfoy," she said. "How's the side?" 

"Painful," Draco replied shortly. Damn it, the girl even looked good waking up- temptingly flushed and heavy-eyed. Draco saw this as further proof of the fundamental wrongness of the situation. Even he was not his usual incomparable self immediately after waking. 

"Here, lemme see," she muttered, leaning forward to inspect the bandaged area. "It looks a bit better, I reckon. Might not even scar if you keep it clean." She eyed his chin, carefully avoiding eye contact. "Er... you want some breakfast?"

A safe topic, he thought. Thank God. "Hmm. An egg white omelette," Draco said thoughtfully. "Perhaps a bit of ham, thinly sliced. And coffee, of course- no milk, two sugars." He gave a regal little nod. 

"Right," Ginny said. "Cornflakes it is."

****

"So..." Ginny chased the last soggy cornflake around the bowl with her spoon. "You're telling me that you didn't even check to see if you could help? You find an unmoving little kid on the floor and your first thought is, 'Hmm, I bet France is nice this time of year'?" She shook her head in disbelief. "I'll bet you get on really well with your father, don't you?" 

"Listen, Weasel," Draco said testily, "Put yourself in my shoes. My father's... political sympathies... are not exactly a well-kept secret, and most of the teachers at Hogwarts are, at best, utter halfwits. If Lucius Malfoy's son is found standing over the body of a dead little Hufflepuff, people are fairly likely to jump to the wrong conclusions, and I don't much fancy being whisked off to prison." 

Ginny frowned at her spoon. "So? You weren't even sure the kid was dead. There's lots of things that, y'know, look like death with wizards but aren't...." She trailed off, her eyes darkening. "But even if he were," she continued after a moment, "Your father would get you out in matter of days, tops."

Draco rolled his eyes, speaking with exaggerated patience. "Yes, I am well aware of that, Weasel. All the same, something told me that I wouldn't enjoy a few days in Azkaban quite as much as I'd enjoy a holiday in France with my girlfriend, so I voted for France. Of course," he continued sweetly, "If I'd known that you would be joining me, Azkaban might have seemed more attractive."

Ginny wisely chose to ignore the latter half of his statement. "Well, when were you planning on going back?"

"I told you- as soon as Goyle owls to tell me that the situation has been resolved." Draco spoke with more confidence than he actually felt. In truth, it might take days for Goyle to decipher the letter he'd left him- and would probably take days more for him to reply. But while literacy might not be Goyle's strong suit, Draco had spent the past six and a half years drilling discretion and loyalty into his thick skull. Sooner or later, Goyle would write to say that it was safe to go back to Hogwarts, and in the meanwhile he wouldn't breathe a word about Draco's whereabouts. It really hadn't been his all-time greatest plan, he thought ruefully, but he had been under a bit of stress at the time.

And while he was stuck out here, whispered a tiny, gleeful voice, Ginny Weasley would be here, dazzlingly close at hand.

"I could go back," Ginny offered suddenly.

"If you only had a Portkey," Draco agreed pleasantly. "Shame, isn't it?"

"No, I mean I could go back to find out what happened. If you're still under suspicion, I won't tell anyone about, um, us being here. I promise. You can trust me," Ginny said earnestly.

"Like hell," Draco replied, just as earnestly.

"No, Malfoy, I mean it." She pushed her tangled hair off her brow. "Look, you haven't even really broken any school rules yet, did you know? Well, leaving the grounds without permission-"

"Leaving the country without permission, more like," Draco interrupted.

"Well, right, but the school rules don't say anything about where you go after you leave the grounds, do they? Just that you shouldn't leave them. The punishment is the same, right? A detention or two?" She leaned forward, radiating Gryffindor trustworthiness. "If you think about it, I'm the one who'd probably get into trouble. I impersonated another student, and, um, stole a cloak, and, y'know, shot you-"

"And it bloody hurts, too," Draco muttered, shifting on the pile of musty cushions Ginny had shoved behind him to allow him to sit up. 

"-Just for, er, kissing me." Ginny was tomato-red now, but continued gamely on. "Look, I promise that I'll go to Hogwarts, find out what happened, and come back and tell you. It should only take a couple of hours, and then we can go back to our normal lives and never talk to each other again." She looked into his eyes. "Please. We can't just stay here forever. We'll kill each other."

Draco tried to think about it logically. He could see plenty of flaws with her argument, but he was also tired, and his side hurt, and there was that pesky little sexual attraction he was fighting. If they could just go back to Hogwarts and pretend the whole thing never happened, maybe his sick little fascination would fade away and he could (thankfully) chalk it up to temporary insanity. 

He was just going to have to... trust her. The very thought made him shudder. Well, and threaten her, naturally. "I'm keeping your wand to make sure you come back. And if you ever breathe a word about this," he said, his voice promising that he meant every word, "I swear to you that it will be the last thing you ever say."

Ginny bit her lip, staring at the floor. "I'll promise, if... if you never tell anyone what I said about Harry."

"Damn! And I was just panting to tell all of Slytherin about the little heart-to-heart I had with the Weaselette!" Draco rolled his eyes. "I swear."

"Then so do I." Hesitantly, she offered him a hand to shake. Hardly knowing what he was doing, Draco took it carefully in his own, their pale fingers sliding together. They both stared at their clasped hands for a moment. That was not the right grip for a handshake, Ginny thought idiotically. It occured to her that one of them was seriously confused. She offered up a sincere prayer that it was Malfoy, gave her arm a little shake, and whisked her hand back. 

Draco absolutely refused to think about whatever the hell it was that he was doing. He pulled his wand out, summoned the Portkey, handed it over, and then sat back to wait for the popping noise that would signal Ginny's departure. 

It wasn't long in coming, and Draco was left to hope that he hadn't just made a very poor decision. 

TBC

In the next chapter, Ginny gets to see how Hogwarts has fared in her absence. 


	9. Chapter Nine

Author's Note: Argh. One day I'm going to be able to start off one of these without an apology. (But, alas, that day is not this day.) So here goes: once again, I'm sorry that I've taken forever and a day between updates. This chapter was a pain in the ass for me to write, as it's an awkward transitional part, but I've had it written for ages. I've finally had to accept that inspiration is just not going to strike with something brilliant and graceful to replace this craptastic mess, so I'm going to just scowl at it one more time and post the damn thing. The next chapter should be good, anyway. At least I hope.  
  
God, I've probably jinxed it.   
  
As ever, I sincerely thank everyone who reviewed, and particularly those of you who e-mailed me recently. You provided me with a much-needed boot to the ass. One of my New Year's resolutions is to finish this sucker before spring. Then I might even finish my other two! I know! A girl can dream!   
  
And please remember: this story was conceived pre-OOTP, so if Ginny seems out of character in light of recent developments, uh. . . tough cookies.   
  
  
Chapter Nine   
  
  
Finding out what had happened to the two boys in the corridor might have been a tall order for Ginny Weasley two weeks ago, but it was alarmingly easy for anyone who had spent forty-eight hours in Draco Malfoy's unpleasant yet instructive company. A few wide-eyed questions for a Hufflepuff prefect here, some "we're-all-in-this-together" sympathetic nervousness for the benefit of a group of Ravenclaw third-years there, and the thing was done. The boy Draco had found crumpled on the floor was not, Ginny was relieved to learn, dead. The school librarian had found him the following morning, still crumpled in an unconscious heap. There had been no improvement in his condition since then, confided a knowledgeable medical ward aide from Ravenclaw, but there had also been no change for the worse. Madame Pomphrey was cautiously hopeful that the boy would eventually recover. No one seemed to know what had happened, but Ginny was cheered to learn that spiteful whispering about the Slytherins ran rampant.   
  
The boy Draco had hexed was another- and in some ways thornier- problem, but he still hadn't raised any outcry. When she discovered that the boy hadn't so much as mentioned Draco's name, Ginny assumed either that the memory charm was still in place- it was quite possible, if Draco's agitation had led him to cast a stronger charm than he'd intended- or that the boy was simply too terrified of Draco's wrath to rat him out to a teacher. Regardless, Ginny couldn't discover that the boy had thus far said a single word to contradict Draco's Crabbe-and Goyle-spread story of being called away suddenly to deal with a family problem, so she simply tucked the information into her ever-increasing mental file marked "Malfoy's Problem, Let Him Deal With It".   
  
Which just left Ron.   
  
She was absolutely dreading lying to Ron. She'd never been any good at it- all the Weasleys save Fred and George blushed something fierce under pressure. As she trudged slowly up the tower staircase, she worried over potential holes in the flimsy story about extra credit work she'd concocted to explain her absence for the past two days. While they weren't as close as they had been when they were little, ever since her disastrous first year she had made a point of exchanging at least a few words with Ron every day, just to reassure him that she hadn't gotten herself into any. . . trouble. He and his friends were family, after all, and after their spectacular rescue of her during her first year she felt like she owed them the consideration. Ginny hadn't seen her brother since Friday at lunch, and he must, she was certain, be fretting over her whereabouts.   
  
Climbing through the portrait hole and scanning the common room, Ginny caught a glimpse of bushy brown, messy black, and bright auburn heads huddled close together in a shadowy corner, murmuring to each other. _How sweet. . . they're cooing like doves_, she thought caustically, and then paused, surprised at the maliciousness of her own thoughts. _Ugh_. She gave a mental shudder. _Too much time with Malfoy_.   
  
"Er, hullo, Ron," she said hesitantly as she approached the trio. There was a sudden flurry of activity as Harry scrambled to roll up a lengthy scroll of parchment, Hermione slammed a book closed so fast that it sent up a little puff of dust, and Ron, the tips of his ears flushing, stuffed something silvery up his tattered sleeve. "Um. Harry, Hermione. Hi." She gave an awkward little wave.   
  
"'Lo, Ginny." Harry didn't quite meet her eyes. He never did. _Hello, The-Boy-Who-Was-A-Spineless-Jackass_. Ginny winced, shutting that thought off with a snap. _Make that **way** too much time with Malfoy_.   
  
"Hello," Hermione said pleasantly. The older girl, always the most composed of the famous trio, was able to meet Ginny's gaze without flinching- but her usually friendly smile was strained.   
  
"Hi, Gin." Ron nodded. His ears were still red. Ginny offered up a quick prayer that the flush wasn't a portent of a truly spectacular lecture. Ron's little "speeches" could rival Mum's for sound and fury.   
  
Waiting resignedly for him to continue, Ginny dropped her gaze, examining the dull tips of her secondhand shoes. She wondered whether she should just kick off with an explanation or wait for Ron to finish shouting at her. She was unpleasantly aware of the blush spreading from her cheekbones to the roots of her hair. _Please say you haven't owled Mum, please say you haven't owled Mum. . . ._   
  
"So, er. . . did you need something?" Ron asked.   
  
Ginny's head snapped up. "What?"   
  
"Well, it's just, y'know, that we're working on something here." He gestured vaguely toward Hermione's book. As she glanced at it, Ginny noted that Hermione automatically slid her hand down over the book's title.   
  
"Potions," Harry added awkwardly. "Seventh year stuff." As neither he nor Ron were taking Potions, this excuse left something to be desired, but Ginny was too surprised by the discovery that her brother had not so much as noticed her absence to quibble over details.   
  
"Right," Hermione said, now smiling through her teeth. "I have to help them through revisions, so. . . ."   
  
"Right," Ginny said slowly, her mind spinning. "So sorry to bother you." And she turned on one shabby heel and walked away.   
  
****   
  
It was unpleasantly obvious, Ginny thought, her throat hot with tears, that no one cared a damn about her.   
  
She had been missing for two straight days, and her so-called nearest and dearest hadn't even noticed. Just when, Ginny thought fiercely, rubbing the heel of her hand against one eye, would it have crossed someone's mind to wonder where she'd got to? When she failed to show up for their graduation? When Harry decided that he was finally willing to sit down and have his Very Important Bloody Talk with her? When Hermione and Ron needed a bridesmaid for their as-yet-unmentioned-but-inevitable wedding? Resentment coiled in her stomach. What in the name of all that was holy gave them right to be so damn self-centered?   
  
_Should have expected it_, whispered a tiny, infuriatingly reasonable, massively condescending voice in her head. It sounded exactly like Draco. _That constant saving-the-world-before-teatime takes up a bit of their time and attention, you selfish little cow. What do you matter, anyway? You're an inconvenience, nothing more. Needy- a distraction. They're not unkind, not really. Just too busy, too important, for the likes of you._   
  
_Shut up_, Ginny told herself, with a quick mental shiver. She didn't need any snide dressing-downs from her own subconscious- if she wanted to listen to Draco Malfoy's voice being nasty to her, the genuine article himself would certainly oblige.   
  
With a start, she realized that she needed to get back. Malfoy would be tetchy enough as it was. Doing her best to shrug off the brooding feeling of resentment toward her brother and his friends, she slipped out of the common room and headed back toward the opposite tower.   
  
****   
  
Malfoys didn't use words like "tetchy"- too vulgar by half- but if someone had been around to inquire as to his emotional state, Draco would have admitted to being a trifle irate. Then he would have thrown something at them. Where in the hell was the damn girl? Muttering obscenities, he shifted on the dusty sheets for what felt like the hundredth time, searching fruitlessly for a comfortable position. He was fairly certain that she hadn't betrayed his whereabouts- the lack of Ministry officials swarming through the house proved that- but she had quite probably left him here to die, the selfish little bitch. It had been _hours_, and the girl showed no signs of returning. He shifted yet again, morbidly brooding over his possible fates. Starvation seemed imminent. Gangrene- he wasn't entirely sure what that was, but was vaguely aware that it would involve discomfort and foul-smelling fluids, two of his least favorite things. Terminal sexual frustration- could you die of that? Probably. Of course, he'd get so fucking bored first that he'd have to fall on his wand-   
  
And then, at long last, there was the sound of soft footsteps on the stairs. Draco struggled up onto one elbow, groping for the wand he'd set on the bedside table, firmly squashing the wholly inappropriate- and disturbingly positive- feelings he was experiencing at the sight of Ginny Weasley's slim form in his bedroom doorway.   
  
That way lay madness.   
  
"Malfoy," said the girl flatly, giving him a little nod.   
  
His brows rose at her tone. Hmm. It was obvious the girl was spoiling for a quarrel. Unfortunately, he didn't currently have the time or inclination to indulge her. "Well?" he demanded, in the tone of a general requiring a status report.   
  
"The boy in corridor isn't dead, but he hasn't woken up, either," Ginny replied, her eyes bright with temper. "The other one hasn't said anything yet, but I don't know whether that's because he's scared stiff of you or simply hasn't recovered from whatever you threw at him."   
  
Draco frowned over the news. Fuck, he still wasn't in the clear. "Still no idea as to what the boy was hit with?"   
  
"No."   
  
"And the other little brat could recover his memory at any time," he muttered, scowling at his sheets. Things were not going as he had hoped. His mind was already busily turning over various alternate plans, rejecting and modifying.   
  
"Could happen at any minute, I reckon," Ginny said. "It was pretty stupid of you to have stunned him like that," she added maliciously. She even managed a credible sneer. "If you hadn't, it would have just been his word against yours, but as it is-"   
  
Draco's pale brow went up again as he glanced up at her. "Is there a reason you're acting like a fishwife about this, little Weasel?" he inquired, his voice deceptively sweet. "Is it that time of the month, perhaps? Or do all of the women in your family turn into screeching, bitchy nags under pressure?"   
  
Ginny flushed an unfortunate shade of maroon. "Piss off," she snapped.   
  
"Such charming language, too," Draco said, his voice dripping with false admiration. "That's dished me."   
  
Ginny bit her lip, ruining the sneer. Incidentally, all the women in her family _did_ turn into bitchy nags under pressure, so she felt like she was on shaky ground. Recovering her expression, she gave a haughty little sniff and decided to change the subject. "And how's your side, Malfoy? Have you ruined that as well, or do you just muck up the lives of infant Hufflepuffs?"   
  
He waved a hand dismissively. "Hmm."   
  
She walked forward, her brows drawing together. With a none-too-gentle tug, she pulled down the sheet to expose his neatly dressed wound- and was surprised to find herself slightly breathless at the sight of his broad, smoothly muscled chest. Not a little horrified at the direction her traitorous thoughts had momentarily taken, her scowl became even more pronounced as she peeled up an edge of the bandage. The wound itself looked well enough, if a little red and swollen around the edges.   
  
"Wind'll change and your face will freeze like that," Draco murmured. He struggled up onto an elbow, his muscles shifting beautifully under his skin, and Ginny felt her face getting hot.   
  
"What were you doing to yourself? It's all inflamed." Ginny glared at him, more ferociously than the slight inflammation deserved. "Stop trying to pull out my stitches, you halfwit."   
  
"It was itchy," Draco said irritably.   
  
"Lords above, Malfoy, don't be such a princess," she snapped, mildly cheered when he hissed at her. Still frowning, she traced the line of stitches with a gentle finger, her hand lingering for the tiniest moment on his flat abdomen. She stared at it. Bad hand. Her voice seemed to be coming from rather far away. "It's not too bad, I suppose." She paused, stepping back, her gaze drifting up to his shoulders. They really were lovely shoulders, she thought distractedly. Quidditch had been good to the bloodless little bastard.   
  
He wasn't so little any longer, really. . . .   
  
Perfectly appalled at herself, Ginny closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "What are we going to do, Malfoy?"   
  
"About what?" Draco sounded a little distracted himself. God, her cool, slender fingers had felt wonderful. He resisted the urge to pull her hands back- flatten them against the hot skin along his ribcage.   
  
"About _everything_," she snapped, his idiocy mercifully distracting her from his body. "Remember that poor boy you left for dead? Or are you too busy enjoying this little holiday in France's answer to the House of Usher? Merlin, Malfoy, were you planning to actually _complete_ your Hogwarts education before trotting off to whatever Death Eater finishing school your daddy's picked out for you?" Her voice rose. "Or how about we have a little chat about giving me my damn wand back? There's no bloody reason for me to be here any longer."   
  
Draco gave her his best supercilious stare. "I do assure you, Weasley, I have a plan. It does rely rather heavily on you-" he broke off, once again trying to shift himself into a more comfortable position.   
  
Ginny looked up at the sudden silence, her mouth falling open, utterly staggered that Draco Malfoy would admit to needing her help- without even tossing in a few gratuitous insults. _Lord and Lady, perhaps he's been hurt more badly than I thought. . . ._   
  
But then he continued, his voice and manner dripping disdain. "-a vulgar, incompetent, mouthy little nothing of a girl that I wouldn't ordinarily trust to tie her own ragged shoelaces. But I think it might work, despite your truly staggering handicaps."   
  
_Right then_, Ginny thought, closing her mouth with a snap. _He'll be fine_.   
  
  
  
TBC   
  
  
Next up: Ginny's going to be. . . THE MOLE. 


	10. Chapter Ten

Author's Note:  What's this?  Why, yes, it _is_ an update!  And only a wee bit more than a month since the last one.  I hope everyone's proud.  As always, a huge thank-you to everyone that reviewed.  I know that every fanfic writer says this and that it's totally cheesy, but reviewing is a huge payback for me and absolutely makes writing fanfics worthwhile.

Also, I'd like everyone to know that "Chastity Savage" is the name that the romance novelist Susan Elizabeth Phillips claims she wanted as her original pen name, and that I am borrowing it without her permission.  I hope that gives you an idea of the sense of humor she displays in her books, which I promise are much better than anything called "Cecilia and the Wicked Wizard" could ever be.  

Chapter Ten:

By Monday evening, Ginny had discovered that being Malfoy's eyes and ears at Hogwarts was bizarrely enjoyable.  She was certainly planning on enjoying the healthy sum of money that she had flatly insisted that Malfoy pay her in advance in exchange for her investigative services, and she was finding it strangely satisfying to have someone to safely inflict her Ron-induced foul mood on.  ("It's either pay me to keep an ear out for you, Malfoy, or wait for Goyle to learn how to write.  Enjoy your lonely old age, won't you?")  

By Tuesday night, she had established a workable routine: as soon as classes ended she would take a trip down to the hospital wing, spend a few minutes eavesdropping on both the Slytherins and Ravenclaws- who knew that six years of being just shy of invisible could prove to be dead useful?- and then slip away to a safe location to use the portkey and report back to an increasingly stir-crazy Draco.  ("No change.  That poor first-year's still unconscious, the other one still hasn't said anything- oh, and you're still an idiot, did you know?")  

On Wednesday morning Ginny slipped into the school's owlery to send a sealed letter from Draco to his mother, and shortly thereafter a Malfoy family owl had arrived at the school with a cream-colored envelope containing a letter excusing Draco's absence.  As Draco pointed out, it was a temporary fix- dependent on the hexed boy's continued unwitting cooperation- but better than nothing.  

On Thursday, she brought her homework along with her when she left Hogwarts and spent a productive hour finishing off a scroll for potions.  An un-crowded place to work had been an almost unheard-of luxury in Ginny's life, and she was discovering that she felt almost… comfortable in the gloomy big house in France.  She had never been able to fully forget about the dangers lurking in the hidden spaces of Hogwarts, and it was strangely reassuring to know that in Draco's house she always knew exactly where the enemy was.

Usually right in front of her, being annoying as hell.  

"Here, Malfoy- what's the most common use of pickled Murtlap?"

"Not telling."

"C'mon.  I'm terrible at this."

"I'm sure you are.  So?"

"_So_, a real human being would give me a hand with it."

"Really?"

"God, you are such a bastard."

"You wound me."

"I wish."

A long silence, and then, with a long-suffering sigh, "… it promotes resistance to curses and jinxes."

"Why, thank you, Malfoy."  Pleasantly surprised, Ginny scribbled the answer down.  Then she paused.  "Unless you just fed me the wrong answer, whereupon I hope you choke."

Draco rolled his eyes, propping his booted feet on the massive tabletop and slouching deep into one of the dining room chairs, mindful of his wounded side.  "It's the right answer, Weasley.  I'm so bloody bored I'd almost offer to do your homework for you.  Can't you bring me something to do?"

Without looking up from her homework, Ginny groped through her bag and fished out a battered paperback book, which she tossed in the general direction of the boy across the table.  "Enjoy."

Catching it nimbly, Draco flipped it over to read the title. "'Cecilia and the Wicked Wizard', by Chastity Savage.  Niiiice taste in literature, Weasel."

She rolled her eyes at her scroll.  "You're welcome, ferret-face."

Draco tossed the book back onto the table.  He was bored enough to be tempted to just throw his dignity to the wind and read it, but his Malfoy training went too deep to allow him to appear foolish in public, even if the public in question was just Ginny Weasley.  "Drivel."  Sighing, he slumped back in his chair and cast a look from underneath his lashes at the slender girl across from him.  She was frowning down at her homework, easily and completely ignoring him.  It was unacceptable.  Girls never ignored him.  Draco squashed a bizarre urge to simply lunge over the table and kiss her, just to see what she'd do.  There had to be a less totally insane way to get her attention, he told himself firmly, and eventually settled on a childhood favorite: whining.  "I'm hungry.  Let's go cook something, Weasley.  Something complicated.  Something time-consuming."  

"I'm busy," she said pointedly.  "Some of us still have school, remember?"

"Lord- give it here."  Stretching out a long arm, he snagged her homework and dragged it toward him, ignoring her little gasp of irritation.  "You're almost done.  Twenty-four is powdered Graphorn's horn, and twenty-five is Demiguise pelts."

Ginny snatched her homework back from him, glaring at him through the strands of red hair that had fallen from the messy knot on top of her head.  "Look, can't you entertain yourself for ten minutes?  There's a mirror in the other room.  That's always fun for you."

"Delightful though that would undoubtedly be, man cannot live on beauty alone."  He narrowed his eyes at her.  "I do believe I mentioned that I was hungry- and you're working for me, remember?"

"Keeping my ears open, yes," Ginny replied irritably, jotting down the final answers before rolling up the scroll and stashing it in her bag.  "Who said anything about cooking?  There's cereal, isn't there?"  She stood up, fishing in her bag for the portkey.

Draco scowled at the sight.  She was leaving.  Damn it, he didn't _want_ her to leave.  It was _boring_ here without her.  He spoke without thinking, trying to delay her departure just a little bit longer.  "Look, don't go yet, Weasley.  I'm about to die of malnutrition.  Teach me to cook something.  Anything.  I'm beyond sick of cereal."      

Ginny stared at him for a moment, biting her lip.  She should really get back to the dormitory, but something in Malfoy's voice made her pause.  When he wasn't being snide, she thought, Malfoy's voice was weirdly compelling.  Somehow she found herself nodding.  "All right.  Something little.  Let's go."

Draco got to his feet as quickly as the wound in his side would allow.  "Good," he said coolly, dusting off his robes and trying to recover a bit of his somewhat damaged hauteur.  "I simply cannot face another bowl of cornflakes."

"C'mon, then," Ginny said, rolling her eyes yet again as Draco began to meticulously pick invisible bits of lint off of his robes.  Like he wasn't perfect already, she thought, suddenly uncomfortably aware of her own mussed hair and ink-stained fingers.  "Move it, Malfoy.  I haven't got all night."  When he ignored her, she simply grabbed a fistful of expensive material and gave a sharp tug, intending to haul him off in the direction of the kitchens.  Startled and off-balance, Draco stumbled toward her, his larger body crowding against hers.  Blushing furiously, Ginny released her hold on his robes immediately and practically leapt back, muttering an apology.

"Forget it," Draco said shortly.  Was it her imagination, or was there a slight tinge of pink in his face as well?  Still tomato-red, Ginny started toward the kitchens, mentally flipping through her slim catalogue of recipes to find the one that would get her out of there in the shortest amount of time.  When they reached the kitchens, she silently fished out a frying pan and grabbed eggs, cheese, and tomatoes from the icebox, painfully aware of his unblinking gaze following her every movement.  The entire situation felt surreal- she, Ginny Weasley, was teaching Draco Malfoy, who had recently tried to jump her and only slightly less recently been largely unaware of her existence, how to cook.  In _France_.  

All that was missing was a bunch of melting clocks.     

"Watch what I do, okay?" Ginny muttered, carefully not looking at Draco's face.  "I'm going to make an omelet.  Dead easy."  With quick, efficient movements, she prepared the simple meal and slid the finished product onto a plate.  "There you go," she said, shoving it at him and glancing around for her bag. 

"Wait," Draco said abruptly, a half-formed plan spinning in his Slytherin brain.  "Show me how to flip it one more time.  I'll do the rest."  Without waiting for her agreement, he carefully mixed the ingredients together and poured them into the hot pan.  "Here," he said and stepped aside, his eyes sliding back toward her face.  He tried to look innocent.  It didn't suit him.

He was plotting something, she was sure, and she was equally certain that she wanted no part of it.  Gnawing on her lower lip, Ginny cautiously approached the stove, casting a quick, suspicious glare at the tall boy standing next to it.  She was just reaching out to grab the handle of the pan when a pale hand reached out and long fingers curved around her wrist.  With a growing sense of doom, she raised her gaze to the tall boy standing next to her, and was somehow totally unsurprised to find his lips brushing over hers as he bent closer to fit their mouths together, his hand trailing up her wrist, her arm, her neck, into her hair.

For first time in recent memory, Draco wasn't quite sure what he was doing with a girl in his arms.  He wasn't drunk this time, but somehow he felt even more off balance, all his attention focused on the small redhead that he was currently trying, with all of his power, to coax into kissing him back.  Why did the damn girl have to be so bloody difficult?  And why did she have to taste so good?  A girl with a mouth that felt like hers should be kissing people on a routine basis, not lurking about in corners.  

It was downright wasteful, that's what it was.  

And then somehow, she _was_ kissing him.  Ginny wasn't quite sure how it happened, but suddenly her mouth opened under the gentle pressure of his and she was kissing him back.  She had very little practical experience, but thanks to Chastity Savage and her ilk she had plenty of theoretical knowledge.  Her hands decided to act of their own accord and somehow landed on Draco's broad shoulders.  The rational portion of her brain was furiously waving a red flag ("Danger, Ginny Weasley!  Danger!   Think about what your mum would say!") but she resolutely ignored it.  Draco Malfoy might be a total bastard, but whatever he was doing felt too good to muck up with a bunch of rational thought.  

Draco, pleasantly surprised by the sudden cooperation of the slight girl in his arms, tentatively decided to take things a bit further.  He had a sneaking suspicion he was about to get his head knocked clear off, but for seventeen-year-old males, hope springs eternal and the pursuit of sexual gratification _always_ trumps common sense.  The hand that wasn't buried in Ginny's messily pinned-up hair slid toward the buttons of her shirt.  Luckily for him, it was a hand-me-down from Charlie, hanging loosely on her slender frame, and he was able to get a healthy start on the buttons before she noticed a thing.  

Ginny barely had a moment to wonder at the sudden draftiness of the kitchen before Draco's warm hand slid over the curves of her small cotton-covered breasts.  She gasped against his mouth, jerking back, but he followed her, deepening the kiss, distracting her.  Ignoring the anguished screaming and hair-clutching coming from her common sense, Ginny pressed closer, letting out a tiny moan when his hand returned to her chest, curving over the swell of her breasts, long fingers smoothing over her skin.  She had never felt anything like this, the taste of him, the feel of him, the smell…

…of the burning eggs.  

"Fucking _hell_," Draco hissed, pulling back from her and turning toward the stove.  The omelet had turned completely black and was smoking furiously.  Snatching up a towel, he grabbed the handle and dumped the entire mess in the sink and turned the water on it, sending up a cloud of foul-smelling steam.  The entire process took less than thirty seconds, but when he turned back around he was just in time to catch a glimpse of Ginny Weasley kicking up her heels as she practically sprinted out of the room.  

**** 

Ginny skidded into the Gryffindor common room with four minutes to spare, half of her hair falling out of the knot on top of her head and her cheeks still flaming.  "Oh, thank God," said a wide-eyed Hermione, rushing toward her.  "_There_ you are.  Did you hear?  There's been another attack."

TBC… soon!  I have the next chapter partially written!


	11. Chapter Eleven

Author's Note:  Haven't really got much to say for this one, really.  It's low on humor, but high on plot development, so that's something, right?  

As always, I love those of you who reviewed.  Each and every review gives me a dorky, giddy little thrill along my spine.  Thank you.            

Chapter Eleven

Ginny staggered up to her bed in a daze.  She had been kissed- _thoroughly_ kissed- by Draco Malfoy.  _Draco Malfoy_.  It simply didn't bear thinking of.

She willed herself to stop thinking about it. 

Immediately. 

Unfortunately, not thinking about it made Ginny's brain feel like it might explode, so she eventually gave up.  What did he mean by it?  Did he mean anything?  Was it just a random hormonal burst?  Didn't he despise her?  Didn't it _bother_ him, kissing a girl he thought beneath him?  If not, were all boys such pigs, or was it just him?  Was it wrong of her, to have (sort-of, kind-of, just-a-bit) enjoyed it?  Oh, God, it was, wasn't it?  She was going to burn in hell, wasn't she?  And, well, if she was going to burn anyway… would he kiss her again?  Even alone, in the comforting darkness of her dormitory, she blushed to think of it.  A headache began to form behind her eyes.  She was just tossing back the covers to go and hunt up some Pepper-Up potion- or maybe some hard alcohol, whichever turned up first- when the ramifications of Hermione's words finally sank into her brain. 

If Draco Malfoy had been miles away from Hogwarts when this second attack occurred, it was highly unlikely that anyone would accuse him of the first.   

Good Lord.  Ginny moaned, flopping back and pulling the bedcovers over her head, her headache intensifying every second.  She needed to go back- as soon as possible- and tell him that it was safe for him to return.  It was her duty as a Gryffindor- keeping him in the dark a day longer than necessary would be cruel.  Trying to squash the butterflies that popped into her stomach at the thought of seeing him again, she tried to tell herself that she would be totally relieved for things to go back to normal. 

Then a new thought occurred, and the butterflies intensified.  What if… what if Malfoy indicated that he wanted things to stay _ab_normal?  Ginny flushed tomato-red at the thought, but if she was absolutely, scrupulously honest with herself, she had to admit that the kisses she and Malfoy had shared had been… interesting.  She had been kissed before, of course- twice.  Both times had been by sweet, funny boys who would probably be quite attractive in another decade, give or take a few years.  She had never been touched by someone like Draco Malfoy, though.  He was one of the school's acknowledged Beautiful People- at eighteen, already gorgeously in control of his body.  Being touched by him had been equal parts dazzling and terrifying. 

It wasn't an experience that she was perfectly certain that she truly _wanted_ to turn away from, should he offer it again.

She might as well get it over with.  With a mental groan, Ginny did her best to shove any traitorous thoughts to the deepest, darkest corner of her mind as she dragged herself out of bed and slipped through the shadows, looking for an appropriate place to Portkey.  It was going to be hard enough to face Malfoy and not die of embarrassment without thinking about what was probably a nothing more than few totally meaningless kisses.  They had meant nothing to the boy in question, Ginny told herself sternly, and nothing to her.  Mostly.  And if she had a scrap of sanity left to her, they would never, ever be repeated. 

……………………..

Had she stuck around to catch a glimpse of it, Ginny would not have been comforted Draco's reaction as he watched her disappear.  "Wait, Weasely-" he called after her.  The words seemed to tumble past his lips, his mouth acting completely independently of his brain. "I'm sorr-"  Thankfully, Draco's brain managed to wrest back control before the entire phrase emerged.  He _never_ apologized.  Huffing a sigh, he waved a wand- at this point, he almost didn't care if someone caught him- at the messy kitchen, muttered a cleaning spell, and slouched off to his room. 

The entire situation was perfectly appalling, thought Draco as he flopped down on his bed.  Had he lost his fucking mind?  What was he thinking, mauling a Weasley?  She was poor, and red-headed, and loved Muggles, and worshipped Harry Potter, and even if he could bring himself to ignore all of that and shag her anyway- Draco did his best to ignore his body's reaction to the thought of bedding Ginny Weasley- she probably had the fertility level of a rabbit in heat and would immediately get pregnant, thereby creating a scandal that would probably result in her getting expelled and him getting decapitated.

So no more kissing her, he told himself sternly.  No more helping her with her homework, or watching her hair change color in the firelight, and definitely no more sliding his hands up her shirt, along the smooth, slender lines of her torso…. 

Thinking about the upper recesses of Ginny's clothing eventually led to a need for some readjustments in Draco's clothing. 

He was just dozing off, scowl still present and accounted for, when he heard the unmistakable sound of Ginny's voice, softly calling his name from the stairs.  Draco's eyes snapped open and his mental list of Ginny-related resolutions evaporated.  Had she come back to apologize?  A picture of a penitent Ginny appeared in his mind's eye: blushing, biting her lip, moving close to him….  Well, Draco was prepared to forgive her.  Then they could just take up where they had left off.  Standing, he shook out his robes and smoothed his pale hair.  Automatically assuming his haughtiest expression, he swept out into the hall, ready to be magnanimous.  "What is it, Weasley?"

Ginny's eyes shifted around, shooting nervously in every direction but his, her voice sounded strained, and she was blushing up a storm.  A freckled hand began nervously tugging on a long wave of hair.  "Well, um… I could be wrong, but…" She bit her lip.  Draco's attention zeroed in on her mouth like an owl eying a particularly fat, slow mouse.   "So if you think it's a stupid move, feel free to ignore me, but… Well, you see, Hermione says-"

 That was the last straw.  There were a handful of things for which Draco was willing to delay the gratification of his animal passions, but a discussion of the wit and wisdom of Mudblood Granger was not one of them.  He pounced. 

When Draco Malfoy reached out and yanked her into his arms, Ginny almost swallowed her tongue.  She meant to push him away and get back to the important business of explaining what was going on- really, she did- but the explanation hovering on her lips faded away as she hesitantly leaned into the taller boy, everything overshadowed by the feel of the hot, coaxing mouth slanted over hers.  She was helpless to do anything other than kiss him back, sighing into his mouth as his greedy hands slid up her body and gasping as he easily tugged the loose long-sleeved T-shirt she wore over her head.  As his pale head bent over the slight curve of her breast and his hands slid to her hips, Ginny tried her best to forget the dire warnings being emitted by her common sense- surely, _surely_ he wouldn't do this if he didn't like her, at least a little bit?  He couldn't loathe her, the way he did Ron, and kiss her like this, could he?  

It wasn't until those warm, skilled hands started sliding towards some very risqué places that the Higher Thought portion of Ginny's brain kicked into gear.  "Wait," she gasped, grabbing at his wrists.  He paid no attention.  "Hey, Malfoy- I said _wait_."  She gave him a little shove, and he half-stumbled back, muttering something foul, hair mussed and eyes over-bright.  "Listen.  There was another attack today.  I think you're in the clear."

Bloodyfucking_hell_.  Draco tried to catch his breath.  The Weasel was saying something, but after the word "Wait" had filtered through, his interest in the conversation had plummeted.  It seemed quite unlikely that she was saying anything along the lines of "Ooh, Draco, you're like a Greek statue come to life.  Make love to me, you God among wizards- right here, right now" and if that wasn't on the conversational menu, he wasn't buying.  He closed his eyes, willing his nearly painful arousal to fade.    

Ginny eyed him dubiously, grabbing her shirt off of the floor.  Was he even listening?  "Malfoy?"  Her voice quavered.  "Er- Draco?"  She yanked her shirt over her head, trying not to think about how it had felt to have him pull it off of her.

"_What_?" he replied.  Ginny winced at his tone.  Malfoy sounded… tense.  And his eyes were squeezed shut.  And there was a vein pulsating in his forehead, which was kind of icky.

"Did you hear what I said?"  Taking his silence to mean "no", Ginny gamely continued.  "About that other boy?" 

"No," Malfoy ground out, eyes still screwed shut.

"Er… there was another attack.  Today.  So I reckon you can go back."  Words were tumbling out of Ginny's mouth faster now.  She eyed him nervously.  "I mean, nobody will accuse you of the first attack if you weren't about for the second, right?"

That filtered through.  Two grey eyes snapped open.  "What?"  Lust was immediately booted to the back burner. Draco was Slytherin to the core: ambition _always_ came first, and this could mean a return to his normal life.  "There was another attack?  You're sure?"  His questions came rapid-fire.  "When?  Who was it?  Do they suspect anyone?"

"Today, and I don't know, and I don't think so," replied Ginny, biting her lip.  "So… what do you think?" 

Slowly, Malfoy straightened, dusting off his robes and adjusting the sleeves.  Raising his brows at the small girl before him, he said, "I think this changes everything, naturally."  He needed to deal with this new mess he had created, and then he could go _back_.  Back to Letty, back to Hogwarts, back to his normal life.  Far more skilled at self-deception than Ginny was, Draco assured himself that he was relieved. 

The girl frowned.  "You certain about that?  Because if we're wrong about you being cleared by the second attack, your alibi for the first one still bites."

"Not about _that_."  Malfoy looked, if possible, even haughtier.  "I was referring to this… little interlude."  His voice was bored, but there were two little flags of color high on his cheekbones.  "So, Weasley- what will it take for you to promise never to mention to anyone that I kissed you?"

Ginny's jaw dropped.  She drew breath to say something- what she wasn't quite sure, but it was probably along the lines of "What the hell are you on about?"- but all that she could manage was a little squeaking noise. 

"Well?"  Malfoy looked impatient.  "What will it be?  Money?"  He hated to pay for blackmail, but this was his reputation at stake.  For a Malfoy, there were few things more valuable.  He made an expansive gesture with one hand.  "Keep your mouth shut and it's yours.  Regular monthly payments until I leave school."

Ginny made another little gasping noise.  Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound emerged.  Twice. 

Malfoy uneasily wondered why the girl standing next to him was doing such a fine impression of a landed trout.  He hoped she didn't expect something other than money.  Doing favors for people took time, and all he wanted was to get back to Hogwarts and forget this entire disgraceful episode- particularly the parts that involved him lusting after a poor, common, redheaded Weasley.  The entire situation had been completely insane, and he was absolutely certain that as soon as he returned to Hogwarts- chock full of lovely, willing, non-Weasley girls- normalcy would return.  And if it took a few Galleons a month to keep anyone from learning about any little… aberrations in his past, well, such was life.  All he needed was for the little redhead in front of him to agree to some reasonable terms and he could be back at Hogwarts before breakfast. 

"You… you think I'm going to _blackmail_ you?"  Ginny was having trouble processing her thoughts.  The only thought that seemed to resonate was that her question had been answered: no, apparently he didn't have to like her.  She had just had the most passionate interlude of her short life with a boy who was offering her _money_ to never mention it again.  Disappointment welled up in her throat- but not in him.  She was disappointed in herself for believing, even for a second, that he might actually want her enough to try for something in spite of the many barriers between them, something Harry had never been willing to risk.  The butterflies in her stomach seemed to have been replaced with something squirmy, and she wondered idly if it would be inappropriate for her to throw up. 

"Aren't you?"  Draco was surprised.  It was almost a shame, really.  She could use the money to buy some decent robes, something that would set her off a bit better.  Against his better judgment, his eyes drifted down toward the slim curves of her figure, swaddled in a loose t-shirt and patched flannel drawstring pajama pants.  With an incredible act of will, he forced his eyes back upward.  In less than twelve hours he would be back at Hogwarts, and this unnatural attraction would disappear.  He was certain of it.  Acting on it now would just give her something more to hold over his head.

Ginny took a deep breath, trying to clear her throat.  She wanted to burst into tears, and pound her head into a wall for being so stupid, and pound _his_ head into a wall for being such a bastard.  She didn't do any of those things, though.  If Draco Malfoy was that ashamed of having kissed her, then he wasn't worth a moment's pain.  Intellectually, she knew this, and if her heart hadn't quite gotten the message yet she knew that it would.  In time.  "No," she said softly, trying to speak clearly past the lump in her throat.  "I don't want anything from you, Malfoy."

"Really?" Draco eyed her a little uneasily, wondering if it were some sort of trick. 

"I swear it," said Ginny, looking him directly in the eye and still speaking in an eerily calm, quiet voice.  "Let's go back, and we need never speak to each other again."

"…all right."  Draco felt rather odd.  He believed her- Gryffindors couldn't lie worth a damn- but somehow he didn't care for either the tone of Ginny's voice or her calm, level gaze.  He chalked the feeling up to unrelieved sexual urges, and sincerely hoped that it would go away soon.  He didn't care for it.  "Let's go, then."

A moment later the house was empty.

TBC

In the next chapter, Draco discovers that it's not as easy to shut off attraction as he had expected.  He has so little experience with self-denial, poor boy.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Author's Note:

I am so, so sorry. I think I may have broken my own lateness records (Heh. With this fic, anyway.) The only excuse I have to offer is that my friends and I have been working really hard on our pop fiction book review site. But Wordcandy is up and humming now, so from here on out- no excuses! From now on, if I'm writing slower than your average glacier, well, it's just because I'm being lazy, and you have every right to send me scathing personal e-mails.

Please note that this story is NOT _Order of the Phoenix_-compatible.

Chapter Twelve

It was the haircut that finally broke him, but there were plenty of little insults to be endured first. He didn't know whom Ginny Weasley thought she was ignoring, but Draco Malfoy wasn't putting up with it. Not for one moment longer.

Rising from his chair with more speed than grace, Draco crossed the Great Hall as rapidly as dignity would allow, striding after the redhead he'd just watched disappear through the enormous doors. He paused when he reached the corridor, and, finding that his quarry had already disappeared, headed after the sound of distant footsteps.

It really hadn't been his best week, Draco thought peevishly. He didn't know why, exactly, but nothing had been quite _right_ since he returned to Hogwarts. It wasn't that there had been any difficulty over his absence- Draco was of age, and Snape would never dream of questioning him over so petty an offense as missing a few days of classes anyway- and it wasn't that the boy Draco had memory-charmed said anything, either. The boy was either still bespelled or simply too scared to say anything. Draco neither knew nor cared which, so long as the kid kept his mouth shut. Damn it, he didn't know _what_ it was. By rights, everything should be going swimmingly. He had broken things off with Letty, and the hell-raising scene she'd made at high noon in Hogwart's busiest corridor had been very gratifying, as well as adding to his well-established reputation as the resident Hogwarts ladies' man. (The only disappointment had been that Ginny Weasley hadn't been there to witness it, but Draco comforted himself with the hope that Letty's hysterical sobs over losing him would keep her redheaded fellow Gryffindor awake at night.) He had received his monthly allowance, his various plots were progressing as planned, and they had _killed_ Ravenclaw in the last match.

But somehow, despite the allowance and Letty's tears and the Quidditch win and the lack of questioning, Draco just wasn't as happy as he should be, and he placed the blame squarely on Ginny Weasley's skinny, freckled shoulders.

She hadn't so much as glanced at him since their return to Hogwarts. It wasn't that Draco wanted her to, naturally. He didn't, he assured himself. It was the _strangeness_ of the situation that was bothering him. After all, Letty was still sobbing over losing him- why wasn't the little Weasel more upset? She should be pining- she, who had spent a full week in his company! They had cooked together! (Well, she had cooked. He had stirred.) Shopped! (Although it hadn't been his usual take-a-girl-shopping expedition, Draco was forced to admit. It had been less of a debonair jewelry/clothing/flowers shopping spree and more of a tinned vegetables and toilet paper-type outing.) But they had done other things- things that had necessitated the removal of clothing! (There would have been more clothing removed, too, if it hadn't been for that fucking omelet, Draco thought darkly. He still couldn't look at a plate of eggs without wanting to kick something.) And yet she didn't seem to miss him at all!

But the breaking point had come this evening, when Ginny had strolled into the dining hall, bold as brass, with at least eight inches of her hair chopped off. And it hadn't looked like a tragedy haircut, either. (He would have been comforted to see her with one of those lopsided cuts that said clearly "I'm upset, and my hair reflects that pain." In a school with several hundred teenagers, those were a common sight.) No, this had looked like a normal haircut. Weasley's hair had swung below her chin in a wavy copper-colored bob. It was rather flattering, actually. She would never be a great beauty, but now her features were no longer competing with a mass of hair.

After all, thought Draco sulkily, just because he had made it clear that he didn't want to speak to her in public was no excuse for ignoring him, and it was time that he made that clear to little Miss Weasley. When he rounded the corner he was rewarded by the sight of a small redheaded figure halfway down the corridor exchanging pleasantries with a portrait. Eyes narrowing, Draco zeroed in for the kill.

Ginny's week, on the other hand, had gone surprisingly well.

Ginny couldn't deny that there had been a few tears shed over Draco Malfoy, although they were, thankfully, tears of rage and humiliation rather than sadness. How could she have been so _idiotic_? Letting him kiss her? Touch her? Wondering if he "_like_-liked" her, like a Hufflepuff third year with a crush?! She must have been stark raving mad! Draco-no, _Malfoy_, her mind corrected itself- had been a complete bastard from the beginning, and she was a perfect fool for thinking otherwise, even for a moment.

But after three days of self-reproach, Ginny forgave herself. Nobody had died, after all, and when your personal moral yardstick ranges all the way from "Helping the Dark Lord return to power" to "Sneaking food into the library", it was really pretty easy to forgive yourself for stupidly having your head turned by the attentions of a boy as pretty as Draco Malfoy. So while she still blushed fiercely whenever she thought about the time she had spent thinking about the pale-haired Slytherin, it didn't take long for Ginny's life to return to its normal routine.

She _felt_ a little different, though.

Happier, somehow.

Ginny couldn't put her finger on it, but something _had_ changed since her strange adventure with Draco Malfoy, and that change was for the better. She was still quiet, but she had begun taking the most direct pathway to her classes, even if it meant walking through the most crowded corridors, something she had previously avoided. She had survived Draco Malfoy- why should she worry about the opinion of a bunch of Ravenclaws? And when Harry had sat down next to her in the Gryffindor common room, she had calmly finished her homework, instead of wasting half an hour stewing with impotent irritation over what she privately thought of as his regularly scheduled "throw Ginny a bone" time. Harry wasn't a bad guy, but her idiocy with Malfoy had proven that she really was over him. It was a very liberating feeling.

It was also the first time that she had ever had any spending money to speak of, thanks to the sizable sum Malfoy had paid her for spying for him. Ginny spent all of it the weekend after their return buying herself a pair of new boots- the first pair she had ever owned that wasn't a hand-me-down from her brothers and didn't shriek "I've survived major combat". Wandering around Hogsmede by herself, smiling a little whenever she caught sight of her feet in low shop windows, she spent the rest on books and candy, totally failing to notice the tall blond boy scowling at her from a table in the window of the Three Broomsticks. Ginny enjoyed the experience of having (and wasting) money so much that she wrote to Fred and George to inquire if they needed any help in their shop during the summer (as anything other than a guinea pig).

She was in such a good mood, in fact, that when she dozed off late one night in front of the Gryffindor fireplace and a stray spark set her hair on fire, Ginny took it philosophically, rather than sending a hysterical owl to her mum requesting a year's worth of bags for her head. When a warning shriek from a portrait awakened her, she simply put out the fire, surveyed the damage in the mirror above the mantelpiece and marched up to the seventh-year dormitory. Lavender Brown and Parvarti Patil, Gryffindor's resident beauty experts, took one look at the ragged, reeking mess atop Ginny's head and leapt into action. An hour later Ginny went off to bed, her newly shortened hair swinging in loose waves slightly below her jaw. Her reflection still came as a bit of a shock, but she was adjusting.

She overslept the next morning- missing breakfast, rushing to get ready, and _still_ ending up late for Potions. The lateness earned her a lunchtime detention, so Ginny hightailed it to dinner the moment it was served. She was so intent on her food that she handled the scattered compliments on her new haircut with more than her usual composure, just smiling a little awkwardly and mumbling a "thanks" around a huge mouthful of potato. Seamus goofily wiggled his brows at her, and though Ginny blushed like a tomato she couldn't help being pleased at the attention.

A certain pair of grey eyes across the hall narrowed, but thanks to her face-saving "Draco Malfoy? Sorry. Never heard of him." policy, it totally failed to register on Ginny's radar.

Ginny finally ate her fill and pushed away from the table, folding her napkin neatly. Sticking her hands in her pockets, she walked through the doors at the end of the hall, humming a little, idly wondering what the twins would say in response to her owl, and if they said yes, whether or not she should ask for hazard pay.

She had just paused to say hello to a painting of an extremely distant relative when her arm was seized. Ginny spun around, hand instinctively groping for her wand, and found herself, yet again, face-to-face with a very irritable-looking Draco Malfoy.

"And what the hell," hissed Draco, "Do you think _you're_ playing at?"

TBC

Next chapter:

They fight. And then they make up. Well, not so much "make up" as "get distracted". And then they fight some more!


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Howdy, all. Um… I know I said that I'd post another chapter quite a while ago, and then I totally failed to deliver. And I'm really sorry, because I hate it when the stories that I follow never get updated. I don't have any great excuses, like getting lost at sea or whatever. But here's the thing- it turns out that the website my friends and I run is a tremendous pain in the ass to keep organized, updated, and moderated. Who knew? Also, I play the cello, and after months of typing all damn day for Wordcandy, and then practicing my cello for what seems like _hours_, my fingers actually WENT ON STRIKE, demanding shorter hours and better pay. So instead of finishing this chapter, they've just been lying around, eating junk food and watching the phenomenal _Veronica Mars_, and it was only with the help of your very kind reviews and threatening e-mails that I convinced them to come back to work at all.

As always, please remember that this story is not OOTP-compatible, none of the characters are mine, and that I continue to be sincerely grateful to everyone for reading and responding. Thanks!

Chapter Thirteen

It all happened so fast.

One minute, Ginny was innocently standing there, exchanging a little light gossip with a portrait. The next, she was bewildered to find herself spun round, hissed at, manhandled, and dragged off toward parts unknown, yanked along willy-nilly by Draco's grip on her wrist.

Yep, Ginny had no idea what the hell was going on, but three things were clear: A) Draco was not happy, B) his anger seemed to be directed at her _hair_, if the look of pure rage directed at her newly shorn locks was any indication, although it was far more likely that he wanted to interrogate her about whether or not she'd told anyone about their misadventure, and C) much as she hated to admit it, she was still blushing up a storm at the sight of him.

_Well, this is a depressing development_, Ginny reflected glumly, as she stumbled along in Draco's wake. Damn it, she really, really, _really_ wanted to be over her unnatural, unrequited… _thing_ for Draco Malfoy. _Why_ did she always fall for the headcases? An image of Tom popped into her head, but Ginny shut down that train of thought with the ease of long practice. And to be fair, Harry wasn't a headcase, exactly. He just had an adrenaline addiction, a king-sized hero complex, and all the tact and social grace of a gorilla. Draco, though, was clearly a complete nutjob, albeit a spectacularly good-looking one, with an extremely talented mouth, the ability to tutor her through sixth-year potions, and a rather amusing sense of humor. It was clear that continued exposure was only going to make her feel even worse then she did already, Ginny told herself sternly. It was well past time to get over him.

Starting now. Sighing heavily, Ginny dug in her heels. If Draco was hell-bent on finding a quiet spot to interrogate her, the dark, gloomy hallway they were charging through (where the hell was she, anyway? Ginny didn't think she'd ever even _seen_ this corridor) was plenty isolated enough. She'd just reassure him that she hadn't said a damn thing to anyone, hightail it back to Gryffindor tower, and get back to work at forgetting all about him.

Thrown off balance by her sudden resistance, Draco staggered a few steps to the side. But he recovered himself almost immediately, turning on her. "What the _hell_ is your problem, Weasley?" he hissed at her.

Ginny blinked at him. She had a problem? Well, of course she had problems, but she couldn't think of any that Draco Malfoy would care about.

"When, exactly," Draco snapped, "did the littlest Weasley suddenly grow up? And might one enquire as to _why_?"

Draco's eyes were accusing, and Ginny felt like she was missing something important. Like the slightest clue as to what he was in such a snit about. "I… I just got a haircut," she said uncertainly. "I didn't tell anyone about you, or anything."

"Just a haircut, huh?" Draco said sarcastically. "And yet suddenly you're everywhere. Marching through the halls like you own them. Flirting with that Irish idiot." His eyes narrowed. "Did you cut your hair for _him_?"

"For Seamus?" Ginny was still too confused to be really angry, but anger was definitely on the horizon. Why on Earth would he care if she were flirting with Seamus? Not that she was, or anything. "No, of course not. Look, Malfoy-"

"So, not getting pretty for Finnegan, eh?" Draco interrupted icily. "Potter, then? Tell me, did he agree to put out if you hacked off that rat's nest? No? Who, then?" He was very white around the mouth. "Just curious, you understand. After all, such a drastic change certainly had nothing to do with _me_."

Anger was very close now- Ginny's voice was still level, but her brows were lowering. "I didn't cut my hair _for_ anyone, Malfoy." She hesitated, and then decided to tell him the truth, despite the fact that he would undoubtedly have plenty to say about her clumsiness. "Actually, I accidentally, er, lit it on fire."

"You set it on _fire_?" Draco paused. Suddenly, he sounded a little off his stroke. "Well…. It looks absolutely terrible, I hope you know."

Ginny Weasley was not a particularly vain girl. She had worn her brother's hand-me-downs for six consecutive school years without complaint. She continued to obey her mother's archaic rules regarding makeup charms. When a stray spark had ruined her hair, the hair that had taken her _six years_ to grow out, she had taken it in stride. But listening to Draco Malfoy, whose criminally beautiful mouth she had spent the past week resolutely putting out of her mind, helpfully point out that she looked hideous was simply not to be borne. Torn between slapping him, bursting into tears, and storming out, she finally settled on all three.

ooooo

From the moment he grabbed her arm in front of that portrait, Draco knew things were going to get ugly.

And they did. He wasn't sure exactly what he had set out to do, but he was pretty sure that dragging Ginny out to some random corridor and drilling her about her haircut and raving about the routes she took to class wasn't it. Draco knew he was making an ass of himself; he simply had no idea how to stop. He didn't even understand why he felt so terribly angry. He just knew that A) he wasn't happy, B) Ginny's hair was looking particularly pretty today, and C) for some reason, the sight of that Irish git leveling his oily grin at her made Draco feel like throwing up. Not being an introspective sort of young man, Draco had no idea where these strange, unpleasant feelings came from, but he was certain of one thing: they were _definitely_ Ginny's fault.

It wasn't until his cheek was stinging- the girl had a hell of an arm- and he was watching her dash away from him for what seemed like the millionth time, that the faintest glimmer of understanding broke through to Draco. He didn't _like_ Ginny running away from him, or other boys noticing her, or the feeling he got in his stomach when she ignored him. He did like pestering her when she was trying to finish her homework, and kissing her in his kitchen, and he hadn't investigated nearly enough of the slender curves hidden beneath her enormous, ragged school robes. But if he didn't like her ignoring him but he _did_ like kissing her… then that meant his tactics were going to have change. And fast, because she was about to disappear around the corner.

"Wait!" Draco called out, his brain working furiously. "Weas- Ginny! Just… wait a minute, okay?" Not quite running, he charged after her.

Slowly, Ginny turned, trying to surreptitiously rub a sleeve across her eyes. She knew she was going to regret this, but curiosity had always been her besetting sin.

"Look," Draco began awkwardly. "I'm, uh, sorry about what I said about your hair. It looks…" he hesitated. "Passable."

Ginny stared. He had stopped her to apologize? And say her hair looked okay? After he had _apologized_?

Draco eyed her. She hadn't fallen into his arms yet. Perhaps he needed to go one step further. "And… you probably weren't flirting with Finnegan."

Ginny's jaw dropped. She wondered if possibly she'd hit her head somewhere and just failed to notice.

Still nothing on the arm-falling-into front. Draco was beginning to get a little antsy. He had never had to spell things out for girls- he just smiled at them and waited for them to approach him. Then when he got tired of them, he simply sent them on their way. But Weasley was being difficult. Well, there was nothing for it- he was going to have to go all-out. "Fine," he sighed, and laid his terms on the table. "Listen, Weasley. We're good together. We both know it. So we should be together, right?"

Ginny's mouth snapped shut. She was suddenly very pale. He couldn't mean that. She was hearing things, she must be. There was no way that Draco Malfoy actually wanted to _date_ her- no way that he would risk the mockery of his housemates and the wrath of her brothers just to make a public statement of his interest in her, not unremarkable little Ginny Weasley, youngest and least impressive member of a family that he despised. Not Draco Malfoy….

"But no one can know about us, you understand?" Draco continued, clarifying matters.

A-ha, thought Ginny faintly. Of course he didn't really want to date her. It was just that she hadn't fallen at his feet, so now she was a challenge. Ginny had seen her brothers respond to similar ploys countless times. Draco didn't truly want her, he was just piqued that she hadn't thrown herself at him. It was strangely comforting to realize that Malfoy was still a bastard to the core, she reflected. It made her feel as though the world was still safely spinning in its orbit.

Unfortunately, Draco appeared to have taken her silence as assent, because suddenly he was kissing her.

It was a gorgeous kiss. Draco's hands slid over her shoulders, up the curves of her neck and into her hair, fingers tangling with the coppery chin-length strands. His mouth touched hers, at first gently, but with ever-increasing enthusiasm. Ginny couldn't help but respond, her mouth opening under his and her hands settling against his ribcage. She'd be sane in just… a… moment, she assured herself dazedly. After all, what could a few more kisses hurt?

It was some time later- Ginny had no idea how long- before Draco lifted his mouth from hers. He kept his hands in her hair, though, tilting up her face to meet his gaze. She was almost beautiful in that instant, he thought, the flush of color of her lips and cheeks and the dreamy expression in her eyes transforming her normally unremarkable prettiness into something extraordinary. And now she was his, Draco thought, his mind fat with satisfaction. "Shall we meet back here, then? Say, around eleven tonight?"

Ginny's eyes cleared. Her mind was a little slower to follow suit, but the expression on Draco's face helped immensely. He looked _revoltingly_ pleased with himself. Her eyes narrowed. "I am not going to be your bit on the side, Malfoy," she snapped, her voice tense.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said. "I won't date anyone else while we're together." He'd just tell his friends that he'd already had all the girls worth having at Hogwarts, Draco thought cheerfully. No sweat.

"That's not what I meant, Malfoy!" Did he really think that she had so little pride that she wouldn't object to him keeping her in the shadows, like a particularly embarrassing secret? Did she really seem so pathetic? Did everyone see her that way? _Well, the hell with all of them_, Ginny thought, suddenly furious. Jerking her head free of his grasp, she took several steps back, looking remarkably like her mother for a moment. "I am not going to be your bit on the side _or_ your secret girlfriend _or_ anything else, got that?"

And once he got Weasley out of his system, Draco was thinking happily, this bout of insanity would fade away, he was sure of it. Then her words filtered through to him. Draco blinked at the girl in front of him. "You're not?"

Her little flare of rage burnt itself out as suddenly as it had appeared. Ginny was abruptly exhausted. "No, I'm not." She turned, shoulders drooping, and slowly began to walk away. "See you, Malfoy," she muttered.

Quiet, mousy, unpopular Ginny Weasley was turning down the opportunity to date him? Draco's world spun. Him, Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts' gift to womankind? Everyone wanted to date him! He was good-looking! He gave expensive, yet tasteful, presents! He'd dated all the best-looking girls in his year! And yet there he was, watching, dumbfounded, as Ginny Weasley walked away from him.

He was still standing there, mouth hanging open, when he heard her scream.

ooooo

Ginny rounded the corner, too depressed to notice that she was heading in the wrong direction for Gryffindor Tower. She scowled down at her beautiful new boots, trying very hard not to cry again. He wasn't worth it, the rat bastard. It wasn't until she actually slammed into the black-cloaked figure huddled in the shadows that she noticed anything out of the ordinary, and it wasn't until he turned on her with a startled curse that she began to scream.

TBC


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Hey, everybody. So… this fic is now so old that it is incompatible with TWO books' worth of cannon. Heh. Er… sorry. Wordcandy continues to take up the lion's share of my free time, and I'm not much good at updating that, either. Anyway, once I've finished this version of "Wednesday's Child", I'm planning to clean everything up, do my best to incorporate some (but not much, obviously) cannon authenticity to it, and submit it to Mynuet's site. Until then, we're just going to continue charging along willy-nilly, ignoring anything Rowling has published since 2001, okay?

As always, thanks so much for the kind reviews and encouragement. They truly mean a lot to me.

Chapter Fourteen

Draco sprinted around the corner and skidded to a halt, perfectly horrified at the sight in front of him. A small, hunched man was crouched over Ginny's unmoving body. He was staring up at Draco with abject terror written across his rat-like features.

"…Lucius?" whispered the man, fear in every syllable, squinting at Draco in the dim light. "What are you doing here? My God, is it time? We're attacking? Already?" He whimpered. "Why- why was I not told? Is… is the Dark Lord displeased with me?"

Draco's Slytherin brain was moving at a million miles an hour. The man had clearly mistaken him for his father, and there had to be a way to turn that to his advantage. Unfortunately, he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of Ginny's body long enough to come up with a brilliant plan. Her face was deathly pale, her short hair a puddle of dark copper on the flagstones. Was she dead? How could he tell? And how could he get rid of the wizard standing over her? "Yes," he said slowly, keeping his head bent so the man couldn't get a better look at his face. "It's time. Um… you'd better leave. Th-they need you right outside the Hogwarts gates." His brain scrambled for a detail vague enough not to be immediately contradicted but realistic enough to make his story plausible. "Potter's being a problem." There. That one was pretty much a given.

And it worked. With another moan, the man seemed to disappear inside his cloak. Draco dragged his eyes away from Ginny long enough to watch as a small, dark shape scuttled across the floor and disappeared through a hole under a tapestry. The moment the intruder had left, Draco practically dove for Ginny. She wasn't moving, and she didn't appear to be breathing, but that told him exactly nothing. She needed help, that much was certain. Kneeling, Draco hoisted Ginny over his shoulder in an awkward fireman's lift and charged hell-for-leather in the direction of the hospital wing.

He didn't even take the time to think of a cover story to explain what he was doing with an armload of unconscious Weasley.

It was the first truly unselfish thing he'd ever done.

ooooo

It was fifty-six seconds before Draco Malfoy was going to burst into the hospital wing, and Madam Pomfrey's day was going along swimmingly. At long last, her most disturbing patient, a small Ravenclaw forth year named Sebastian Hertford, had woken up from the curse-induced coma that had left him unconscious and perfectly immobile for weeks. This was good news for both Sebastian and Alastair Woodley, the other student that had been delivered to the hospital wing with an identical curse hovering over him. Sebastian's small room in the corner of the hospital wing was crowded with Hogwarts staff, and Pomfrey was bustling around her patient, force-feeding him chocolate, and shooting out peremptory commands left and right. She was enjoying herself hugely- there was nothing the Hogwarts mediwitch liked better than bossing people about.

All of that was about to change, of course, when Draco showed up. But he wasn't there yet, so she was still having fun. (This, boys and girls, is what we call "blissful ignorance".)

"So," McGonagall said, smiling rather grimly at the boy and attempting to conceal her impatience. "Tell us what happened, then."

"Well…." The little Ravenclaw hesitated, biting his lip. He looked faintly green around the gills and ready to cry. "It's not very clear, I'm afraid, Professor. I… I think I remember seeing a rat. And then there was a man… and then there was a flash of light and I don't remember anything else."

"What did the man look like?" McGonagall was trying, only semi-successfully, to avoid falling into full-on interrogation mode. "Did he say anything?"

"Don't hover over the boy so, Minerva," Madam Pomfrey said authoritatively. "He needs his re-"

It was at this point that Draco burst into the hospital wing, shouting for help, and Madam Pomfrey's afternoon began to take what would soon become a drastic turn for the worse.

"My heavens-" she began, charging toward Ginny Weasley, "what did you _do_, Malfoy?"

"I didn't do anything, you stupid cow!" Draco snapped, sliding Ginny off of his shoulder and onto a hospital bed. "I found her like this. Just- just fix her, do you hear me? _Fix her_."

Pushing the boy aside, Madam Pomfrey began a hurried examination, waving her wand over Ginny's body. "Hmm. Nothing broken, no internal bleeding. She's not breathing, but she's not dead, either.…" She began to move her wand in the complicated maneuver that would allow her to diagnose a curse. "The same as the others," she muttered, as a green wisp of smoke rose from Ginny's chest as she ran her wand over it. There was nothing to be done. Sighing, Madam Pomfrey began to whisper the spells that would keep Ginny's body clean and healthy during the weeks it would take for her to wake up. After she'd finished, she straightened up, freezing as she saw the expression on Draco Malfoy's face.

Well. She had no idea that Malfoys _could_ look like that.

Wonderingly, she tried to explain, to help- anything to take that incredible expression off of his face. Her mind spinning, Madam Pomfrey spoke with unusual gentleness. "Er- she'll be fine, Mr. Malfoy. It's the same as the others- one of them just woke up a few minutes ago. Miss Weasley will be like this for a few weeks, but then she'll be up and about again."

Draco just looked at her for a moment. Then, haltingly, he began to speak, his voice hoarse. "There was a man in the corridor- I think he was a Death Eater. You should warn the oth-"

And then, with a tremendous crash, every window in the hospital wing shattered. Alarm bells wailed, and people began to scream.

Draco's hastily concocted lie, the one that had seemed so plausible to the man in the corridor, had come true.

The Death Eaters had come to Hogwarts.

ooooo

All the teachers had long since rushed out, wands drawn, curses ready at their lips. Pandemonium was everywhere- screams and hexes echoed through the corridors. Draco was left alone with Ginny in a small room in the Hospital Wing, staring down at her. He was thinking furiously. He thought about how cold his house in France was, and everything his parents had ever taught him. He weighed the worth of that against the feeling of Ginny Weasley's lips, an evening spent helping her with her potions homework, and the omelet that he'd never successfully made. He considered the two groups that were fighting so desperately all around him, and wondered which one was going to fight with more passion.

Sighing heavily, his mind made up, Draco rolled up his sleeves, drew his wand, and walked out into the corridor, locking the door behind him. There was a battle to fight, and now that he had chosen his side he felt that he really owed it to the Malfoy name to make his stand in a truly spectacular fashion.

ooooo

Eighteen days later, Ginny Weasley woke up to a comfortingly familiar sight- Hermione Granger reading a book beside her bed- and a truly wicked headache. "Owww…" she moaned, hands coming up to cover her eyes. "My God, what happened?"

"Oh, good, you're awake," Hermione said, closing her book, marking her place with one finger. "Well, you missed out on quite a bit, really. The big battle happened, and we won. Voldemort's dead. Don't worry," she added hastily, as Ginny's mouth dropped open, "Everyone survived intact." Hermione thought about the veracity of what she'd just said for a moment and winced a little. "Well, mostly intact." She thought about it a moment longer. Hermione was a very honest girl. It was a constant affliction to her. "Well… everyone survived, anyway." She gave the younger girl a slightly strained smile. "So… never mind about that! Hey," she continued brightly, "how would you feel about a chocolate frog?"

Ginny tried to process this. She failed. She tried again, hoping that more specific question would lead to more comprehensible information. "No, I mean why do I have this splitting headache?"

"Oh, that," Hermione said, relieved to have a question she could answer without any prevarication. "Well, we don't know everything, but it seems that Peter Pettigrew was sneaking into Hogwarts to spy for Voldemort. You and the other two students that were knocked out seem to have run into him, and he cursed you so you wouldn't be able to say anything. I imagine the headache is a side affect of that."

Ginny tried opening one eye, decided that it hurt too much, and covered them up again. "Er… Hermione? What happened to Malfoy?" She could practically _hear_ Hermione's eyebrows shoot up, and tried, rather lamely, to improve matters. "He was, um, sort of around when I…." She trailed off.

"Well," the older girl said, clearly struggling to suppress a flood of rather awkward questions, "Malfoy was the one who brought you here, apparently. Actually," continued Hermione cautiously, eyeing Ginny's prone form, "Malfoy's been one of the biggest surprises of the past few weeks."

Ginny peeked at her through her fingers. "How so?"

"Well, during the battle he risked his life to save two Hufflepuff first years and Neville Longbottom," Hermione said slowly. "No one can understand it. I mean, I would have bet good money that Draco Malfoy would have been the first to welcome the Death Eaters with open arms, but apparently he just appeared out of nowhere and started firing curses left and right."

Ginny's heart was beating rather loudly.

"Although I can't say that fighting on our side has improved his disposition any," Hermione continued, her expression souring. "Neville screwed up his courage two days ago at dinner and went over to the Slytherin table to say thank-you, and Malfoy shouted something about not doing it for him, turned poor Neville into a wombat and flounced off. It turns out that wombats don't have any bladder control, did you know? And it took us simply ages to get the curse off him. So no one else has been willing to ask Malfoy any questions about what changed his mind about fighting for the Death Eaters."

"Hermione?" Ginny whispered, her voice very small. "Could- could you get Malfoy for me?"

"No way," Hermione said, shaking her bushy head. "I told you, that wombat curse is nasty-"

Ginny lowered her hands, but her eyes remained downcast. "Please? It's… rather important."

Something in her voice must have convinced Hermione that she meant it, because, heaving a sigh, Hermione set down her book and got out of her chair. "Ginny, I don't know why you want to talk to Malfoy, and I suspect that I don't want to know," she said suspiciously. "I'll get him for you, but first- promise me that you're not going to do anything stupid."

"I promise."

"And that this won't get me or you or anyone- well, anyone other than Malfoy- into trouble."

"I promise."

"And that you'll never, ever tell Ron that I brought Malfoy here to see you."

"I promise."

There was a pause, and then an even bigger sigh. "…fine, then."

ooooo

Fifteen minutes later, Hermione returned. There was a long-suffering look on her face. Draco Malfoy was right behind her, his face unreadable.

"Well," Hermione said, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, as though she were hoping for some kind of divine intervention. "Here we all are, then. Ginny, you wanted to talk to Malf-"

"Go away, Granger," Draco ordered, never moving his eyes from Ginny's face.

"_Honestly_-"

"Er, sorry, Hermione," Ginny interrupted quietly. She was staring right back at Draco, her face just as unreadable as his. "But could we have a moment alone?"

Hermione looked pained. "You remember everything you promised?"

Ginny assured her that she did.

"I'm going to regret this, I know I am." Hermione said, shook her head, and walked out of the room.

Draco and Ginny stared at each other for a long moment in silence. Then they both spoke at the same time, and then they simultaneously stopped talking. There was another long silence, and then Draco gave a little huff of pure irritation, walked across the room, bent his head to Ginny's, and kissed her.

TBC

One more chapter, guys, and then an epilogue! We're almost done! Woot!


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